


Demands of Life

by gatekat, Starsheild (StarRise)



Series: Zastario Tales [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kink Meme, M/M, Mech Preg, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarRise/pseuds/Starsheild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G1, Jazz/Prowl<br/>When ancient coding demands Red Alert and Inferno act to ensure their kind endure into the next generation, they try to anticipate everything, but how do you really anticipate all the effects of implanting your creation in the frame of the Autobot Second in Command?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taking Prowl

Red Alert paced across their quarters, optics tracking so that he did not trip but not really seeing, nervous energy driven by the restless coding plaguing him and all of the complications it was creating. It had been dormant until now, so quiet in fact that for a short time the pair had even luxuriated in almost forgetting that it existed.

Perhaps that had been their mistake. And now the overriding need to find a nest, willing or not, was driving him and his mate Inferno to distraction. They had discussed it between themselves, gone through every mech that was currently located on the Earth, and narrowed it down to those currently assigned to the Ark.

Out of those they had gone through the remainder with a clearly defined list of qualifications, weeding out those who not work and discussing the pros and cons of the few who fulfilled all the requirements.

And then they had tried to ignore it once more, hoping that going that far would be enough to calm it for a time and let them plan more.

Instead it had only seemed to aggravate the coding, and Red Alert knew that as soon as Inferno returned from his mission they were going to have to talk.

And act.

He could feel his mate drawing closer and the agitation in him. This was hurting them both. Within orns the stress would send Red Alert to the medbay and into Ratchet's domain. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but with the reproductive protocols so far along, they were both manifesting physical changes that the medic would find when he opened them up. He would probably even scan them, which was why Red Alert had managed to miss every officer meeting since the coding activated, just in case. He still watched and spoke, but from the safety of his control room. No one thought it odd. He always did that when Inferno was away.

The door opened and Red Alert pounced on his mate, shaking from the coding and needing the firm grounding that was his mate's strong arms and common sense to combat his own panic. How lucky he was to have found this mech instead of another.

Pulses, then a soothing calmness enveloped Red Alert's spark from the bond, settling him as nothing else could. It did nothing for the reproductive coding, but at least the rest of him was under control.

"I know," Inferno nuzzled him. "We have to do this now. Are you still sure of our choice?"

"He is the best one. All of them are risks. There is no way to get around that when our choices are so limited. And if what we are seeking in the end is acceptance-" Red Alert paused as he ran the odds one more time. "If what we seek is acceptance, he is our best chance."

Inferno nodded and leaned down to kiss him gently. "Then get the energon and our quarters ready. I'll be back with him soon."

The kiss was returned, gentle despite the tension building in Red Alert again as he left his mate's arms and pulled out the energon he already had stashed away. Their quarters were small and simple, arranging them for their guest's comfort wouldn't take but a few kliks, far less time than it was likely to take Inferno to track down and acquire their target's cooperation.

On the up side, their target was likely to believe the excuse they'd worked out to get him into their quarters. For once Red Alert's paranoia was going to be an advantage. Prowl would never question him sending Inferno to deliver a request to meet in private in a secure location. He'd done it before, for legitimate, faction-related reasons.

He just hoped that their mingled, aroused and breeding-ready fields did what they should and made their nest compliant. He really didn't want to think about actually forcing the nest. Just because they weren't asking permission didn't mean he liked the idea of using force. It was supposed to be pleasurable, especially for the nest, and well, he *liked* Prowl. The SIC was one of the few mecha that understood what functioning with a glitch during wartime meant.

He kept his feeling trained on his mate over the bond, feeling the initial surge of satisfaction that likely signaled that their nest had been located and acquired. With that in mind Red Alert shifted around the last of the furniture, giving them plenty of room to display for and claim their nest, and everything arranged for their nest to recover after they were through.

This was going to be nothing like their previous times. After recovering, this nest had to be made to understand what had happened to him and why. Red Alert could only hope that Prowl was as rational and pragmatic about this as he was about everything else. They were about to intimately assault the Autobot Second in Command.

A gush of air burst from Red Alert's vents when the door opened, breaking the train of thought that was threatening to turn into a full scale panic attack.

"Red Alert," Prowl said when the door closed behind Inferno. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes. About something very important. Something that you have actually mentioned several times as of late during the staff meetings." Red Alert said, his focus shifting as he approached Prowl slowly. Blue optics were focused on Prowl's, and every motion of Red Alert's frame was meant to captivate and intrigue Prowl. He felt more than saw Inferno moving behind Prowl, subtly pushing the Praxian forward.

Once he was trapped the real work would begin, soothing their nest into accepting what needed to be done, but they had to get him there first.

"There have been several disturbing trends of late," Prowl asked for more information. His optics remained on Red Alert as Prowl took a step forward, accepting Inferno's subtle guidance in dealing with his mate. "Which one have you learned something about?"

"Not so much as learned as had a development." Red Alert mused, excitement starting to catch over the bond and in his optics with how compliant their nest was already being. "The decline of our population and the inability to expand it has been expressed as a worry, with the toll that the war has taken. The only reason the number of deactivations has dropped off is because there are fewer of us to deactivate. At this rate there may not be enough to repopulate once the war ends, if it ever does."

The arguments, the approach, Red Alert had gone over it dozens of times in his processor, tailoring it to this mech. Normally this wouldn't be his role, but Inferno had deferred to him this time, acknowledging his mate's ability to plan in depth and consider a scenario from multiple angles when he was not functioning in a panic. Prowl and Red Alert also shared a small additional social bond because of their respective glitches.

"That is true," Prowl acknowledged, part of him wary but his trust of these mecha overriding the uneasy feeling. "What has changed?"

"Coding as old as our kind, awake again." Red Alert purred as Prowl was finally trapped between him and Inferno, the breeding code prompting to his field to flare and join with Inferno's, wrapping around Prowl.

"Should this not be brought to Prime?" Prowl felt himself responding as he would to Jazz and fought down his panic and desire to bolt. It wasn't right. He'd never looked at them this way before. He's never looked at *anyone* this way before. Not until Jazz had taught him about desire and pleasure. His fans picked up in response to his stress as his interface protocols and systems flared to life.

"It will be." Red Alert whispered, hope and promise in his voice as gentle hands reached out to trace along Prowl's frame, the stress detected and the fields shifting to soothe it automatically. "We need your help."

"What can I do to help?" Prowl asked automatically, his distress kicking up at the touch and at the difficulty he was having processing. "I...."

"It's all right, Prowl," Inferno murmured as his frame went flush with Prowl's back. He brought his hands up to stroke Prowl's doorwings, his field strengthening in the effort to sooth and muddle the powerful processors that were on the verge of panic.

"Enjoy this." Red Alert's voice was hypnotically soothing, so different from his normal uptight tone and speech patterns. "We aren't going to hurt you. We don't want to hurt you." He leaned in to nuzzle at Prowl's neck and chin, gentle affection in the touch. "You are strong. Wise. The perfect nest."

"Jazz..." Prowl could barely process the words, the only resistance in him from the assumption that it would upset his mate if he did this. "I shouldn't." He tried to take a step back, only to find Inferno holding him functionally immobile. "I'm not...."

"You are our best choice. Our best hope." Coding overrode any personal sorrow they might have felt, the overwhelming drive to provide the best chance for their creation smothering everything else as the intensity of the touches and fields picked up. Prowl's frame and field responded even as his processors objected for some reason he could no longer put name to.

"Of what?" Prowl asked, though he wasn't sure why. Then Inferno's lip plates caressed the top of his doorwing, sliding towards the joint and Prowl was lost with a low moan. It felt so good, warm between his lovers. They must be his lovers. No one else would bother touching him.

"At giving our creation, and us, a chance at a new life." Red Alert explained softly, willing to give their nest whatever it wanted as code driven protocols took over. He felt it through the mingled fields when Prowl had fully surrendered to the effects of their fields in reproductive mode.

"Berth," Inferno nudged both smaller mechs forward. "I don't think he'll stay compliant as long as most."

"Agreed." Red Alert said, backing away and guiding the willing frame of the Praxian with him.

Prowl felt himself move, aware but not himself. It was unsettling, but the pleasure was like nothing else. Not that he had much to go on, but he was sure the many millennia he'd been in Jazz's berth had....

Had what? Oh, that felt *good*. Better than he imagined a simple touch could. Lips were against his and he kissed back eagerly, if clumsily.

Approval washed over Prowl from every side, the pleasure only growing more intense as gentle hands continued to trace his frame, skimming over his chest and interface equipment suggestively. Both panels slid open, his spike extending quickly, his valve already slick. Another touch to the exposed equipment and he shivered with a low moan, pressing into the contact.

This felt impossibly good. Too good to be real. So maybe it didn't matter who he was between. If it wasn't real, there was nothing for Jazz to be upset about.

Why would Jazz be upset about anything that felt this *good*?

Soft voices continued to speak to him, whispered words of praise and worship as fingers probed gently at his valve. He was already very slick, more than ready and tried to say so, though he wasn't sure if what came out conveyed what he meant. He wanted to be filled, to have his spike ridden, or a hot mouth. Jazz had taught him so many ways to feel good.

He knew he should feel uneasy, being between two mechs and not with Jazz, but it was too difficult to think. Each touch sent a wash of pleasure through him and swept the thoughts away.

His lovers understood though. The fingers disappeared, replaced with a thick, smooth spike that filled him slowly, stretching him until it reached the very top of his valve. 

"Such a wonderful nest for our creation." Red Alert purred to his mate, shuddering at the tight valve squeezing his spike. The words penetrated Prowl's awareness, but were gone with the next thrust.

Prowl knew he screamed, his frame stiff and hands closed in a tight grip around the frame under him. Bliss, intense pleasure like nothing he knew surged through him, encouraging him to press back, to try and take more of that incredible spike into him.

So good. So very good. He moaned and rocked into the thrusts, his charge building more rapidly than he could imagine possible.

The overload, when it came, was different too. His lover cried out, the sound pain and pleasure, and intense surge of charge and pressure hit the top of Prowl's valve.

Red Alert groaned, his entire frame quivering from the effort and dissipating charge as he gathered himself. A large, gentle hand, one of his mates, rose to steady him until he could gather himself enough to pull out.

"Your turn." Red Alert whispered, kissing pausing to kiss his mate as he moved off to the side and stroking their nest once more affectionately. Strong, wise, and exceeding handsome in pleasure was their chosen nest, only confirming their choice once more in Red Alerts processors. It was a gorgeous sight, watching his large mate fill their nest's valve, watching the large spike slide in and out to the mutual moans. Prowl's were all but buried in the berth, his aft in the air, but Inferno's were loud and clear.

Like Red Alert's own overload, Inferno's came quickly, driven by the coding, and once more Prowl's pleasure was expressed in a keening scream as he clawed at the padding under him.

Red Alert waited as his mate recovered, still stroking the their nest's helm and wrapping the other mech in a soothing field as he felt Prowl come down from charges.

When Inferno was ready the touches changed, playing suggestively over Prowl's armor right above his spark as the breeding code drove the pair to finish what they had started, to provide the final energy and coding that would seal the fate of their nest and the creation he would then carry.

Prowl whimpered, a soft sound of objection as he was maneuvered to his back and the touches became more insistent. It cleared his processors for a moment in alarm, enough for him to try and move and whimper a low "no" as more plea than demand.

"Shhhhh." Red Alert nuzzled him gently, soothing and stomping down on the edge of panic that was threatening him from the breeding code. "We have to. Let us see."

With his ability to think slipping away, Prowl complied, his chest armor unlocking. It didn't part right away. That took several more kliks of cooing and touching, easing him into the haze fully once more.

"Strong." Red Alert purred to his mate, field flaring with delight driven by the coding when the pale blue, almost white light washed over their features. "Look."

"I see," Inferno purred, his armor unlocking and beginning to part. His field pushed more soothing waves into Prowl in response to the continuing distress. This wasn't at all like the last two times. But both those times their nest had been completely agreeable to the threesome proposed, even if they hadn't agreed to being a nest. "He's very strong. Such a fine nest."

Red Alert continued to coo and nuzzle at Prowl as pulsing neon blue light spilled from his chest to mingle with Prowl's spark light. "The best, I think." He murmured as one hand traced around Prowl's armor and the other reached back to caress his mate. "All the more reason to hurry and upset him the least amount possible."

Inferno nodded as his deep blue spark light mingled with the other two and he guided his mate into the three way merge. They both felt Prowl's spark try to resist, though it was impossible, and the pulsing as it surrendered, the frame it powered trembling and keening softly.

The mated sparks pulled his into their own, welcoming it with joy and tenderness, trying to convey how thankful they were and how much this was cherished, Prowl was cherished.

Energy rose swiftly again, swirling with pleasure between the three sparks. Even the power was not enough to drown own the sense of blessing.

*We thank you for giving life to our creation*.

Prowl's spark heard, unable to turn away, but the rest of him was trying desperately to pretend this wasn't happening. He sobbed silently that Jazz hadn't been his first in this as he had been in everything else, from friendship to love. It wasn't right, even as he knew he was lucky that hadn't been assaulted this way the time he'd been captured. He'd been lucky Jazz had been the one to teach him about interfacing and not a Decepticon.

The next rush of energy drove him over the edge, triggering bits of code and tying them all to nurturing and caring for the newspark that he now carried, the energy rushing through his frame binding the components and filling them with life that was now tied to Prowl's.

As the rush died down, Prowl choked back a last sob before going still, waiting for what was coming next with a lax processor that was as jumbled and aching as anything Soundwave had managed to do to him. Thought was clearing up, though slowly, and with each section of processor that came back on line he shivered and tried to turn away more. He didn't want to think right now. Not when he couldn't deny what had just happened. How many others had they done this to before being brazen enough to take him? What had he been drugged with? Needed to see Ratchet, get ... NO!

Coding that wasn't his put a screeching, painful halt to that line of thought, punishing him harshly for the undesirable intention.

Prowl settled a little more. It hurt more than he imagined possible. To be forced into such intimacies was bad. That was enough to make him want to curl up and extinguish, but to have his free will down to the thought taken from him. That was terrifying on a level he only knew Soundwave and Shockwave to invoke in him. The still kind of terror that accepted it could not be displayed, so it dug deep and festered. He'd always valued his ability to think. It was what made him valuable, *useful*.

That line of thought was shut down as well, though less harshly.

The new code knew where it was headed and stopped him before he voiced the intent in his processors.

Still. Be still. Be quiet. Maybe he could be free to serve again.

How many had suffered this before him?

There was a shifting, motion nearby the berth that he was still resting on. 

A voice. Red Alert's, full of concern and surprising gentle. "He's coming around."

"Prowl?" Inferno's voice came next, then a touch to his shoulder that he couldn't help flinching away from. Please, no more. Please, let me go. Need to be clean before Jazz sees me.

"Easy, easy." A gentle, soothing voice urged as friendly, caring fields reached out to wrap around him, Red Alert's helm coming into view. "You need to rest a bit, and have some energon."

Prowl accepted the cube that was placed near his helm, wrapping both hands around it as his systems were forced down from combat alert. When neither moved it gave him enough time to do a system scan. He was far less damaged than he assumed, with how sore his valve was. But what came next.

Doorwings twitched as the rest of his frame went stock still.

New hardware?

He didn't have the spark strength to run anything more! The tac-net consumed everything he had. That was why part of it had never booted up. He didn't have the spark for all of it. A shudder passed through him. 

"How long?" he managed to whisper before trying to drink more, the new protocols demanding he keep his energy up.

"How long what?" Red Alert asked from where he was curled up against Inferno, the big mech's arm wrapped around him, more at peace than most mecha had ever seen him, and all of his attention focused on Prowl.

"How long until the new hardware has performed its function and shuts down?" Prowl elaborated, calming as his tac-net took more control by the klik.

"Eight metacycles." Red Alert responded easily, relaxing even more. "Then it will be removed completely. Some of the coding will take longer to fade." This wasn't exactly the order that he had planned to explain things in, but if asking questions and getting answers worked for Prowl, the smaller red mech was more than willing to go along with it.

Prowl was too horrified to hide his reaction for a moment, but collected himself quickly. "There is no one on Earth to take over my duties. No one we can call in while my performance is sub-standard." He told them quietly. "Was that the intent?"

"Why would your performance go down?" Inferno asked, more than slightly confused.

Prowl relaxed a bit. At least it wasn't intentional, even if it was detrimental. "My tac-net drains every joule of power that does not go to supporting my frame. I was commissioned and built around it. Since the new protocols have placed this addition as second only to my spark, above my tac-net in priority, 12% of my tac-net cannot boot. The Autobots will be at a greater disadvantage now."

Honest distress emanated from the other two mecha, along with a rising panic in Red Alert. "I didn't know. I thought I had looked into everything. I thought-" His optics went bright as he began to quiver in Inferno's arms.

"That I was a normal mech," Prowl supplied. "What does this device do?"

Red Alert finally got himself back under something resembling control, a small smile even gracing his lip plates. "Not normal, no. But not that this would end in such distress for you. And things may make more sense if we can start from the beginning."

"Then begin at the beginning," Prowl nodded.

Inferno's arms tightened around his mate, offering comfort as Red Alert gathered himself. "Inferno and I are zastario. The 'hardware'," he had to pause, trying to digest that term himself. "Is not. It's sparked, a creation."

Prowl went still and utterly silent for a long, painfully long klik as he struggled not to crash.

"You have made me a creator." Statement. Question. Very confused.

"Yes." Red Alert agreed. "We cannot carry our creations ourselves, so we are forced to find a third party to help. It is part of our core code. When it cycles we are driven to find a 'nest' and mate."

"Why did you not ask, or at least selected an unmated mecha?" Prowl asked as a new fear rose up. "I have a mate. I will not leave Jazz."

"Jazz is one of the reasons we chose you." Red Alert said. "We do not wish for you to leave him. In the past, the conversation that we are having would have never happened. You would have woken up somewhere safe, with fuel, and only had hazy memories of what had happened and no idea of with who. Your mate is an asset that makes you appealing to our kind."

"Why?" Prowl could only ask, because all he saw were huge risk factors, especially given a mate such as Jazz.

"The two of you have been stable and together for a long time. There is someone else to provide for and protect you, since you are not mated to us."

"Why not simply court a third? Firestar seemed close to both of you." Prowl struggled with the factor that truly didn't make sense to him. "Why assault mecha to raise your creation for you?"

"We did not meet her until after the war had begun." Inferno explained.

"We do not have to create often, though we are capable of creating outside of code need." Red Alert supplied. "You are the third in as many millennia. We have had to remain hidden for so long..." A shudder of sorrow ran through him, far deeper than just personal feelings. "A permanent third was -is- dangerous, after the Extermination."

Prowl paused to look that up and found nothing, not that it surprised him. Zastario were a myth, if they were even that much. "How do you pass for normal mecha? Ratchet is not an inexperienced medic."

"As it was explained to us, the coding mimics normal creator coding, and since the seed that Red produces is formed by equipment much like what is forming to support the creation you now carry, constructing and deconstructing at need, unless a medic were to perform a full physical while we are acting under the breeding code there is nothing abnormal to find." Inferno said, stroking his smaller mate affectionately and kissing his helm.

Prowl mulled that over, his optics dim. "How apparent will it be that I have a creation being built inside me?"

"Not until the last metacycle or two. The visual indicators vary by frame type and shape."

"How am I to hide this from Prime?" Prowl managed to choke the words out, his loyalty coding throwing an almighty fit at the very concept. "From Jazz? How do you expect me to explain this to Ratchet? This is not the Golden Age. I am not a civilian. I can not just explain away the sudden appearance of a sparkling!" His tac-net began to lose ground to the growing hysterical state of its host.

"We don't want you to hide it." Red Alert pressed, his field and Inferno's reaching out in an instant response to try and calm Prowl, still driven to care for their nest since he was still in their presence. "We...we want to them to know. Yet another reason we chose you. We had hoped that you would be willing to approach them, to show them. Our chance to save our creation and give it, and our kind, a chance."

There was a desperate tone of pleading and hope in Red Alert's voice, and a great deal of fear in his optics. He felt the same from his mate as he spoke. Everything that they were doing here went against the coding that had been written and integrated as part of their kind, designed and implemented with the idea to protect them.

Prowl twitched. Then twitched again, something close to a pre-crash shudder, but managed to hold himself together. "Just ... give me the datapad," he said quietly. "I need to process this slowly."

Red Alert rose to hand him the datapad he had been holding the entire time. He had prepared it, anticipating this sort of a reaction from Prowl. On it was everything that they could tell Prowl between himself and Inferno. The history of the Zastario, as far back as they knew. Traditions, coding, all of it spelled out for Prowl to peruse at his own pace. 

Prowl accepted it and scooted off the berth, still visibly uncomfortable but gathering himself for the public walk to wherever he was planning to go. His optics were focused on the couple as he walked to the door, still unsure if he was going to be allowed to escape.

When the door closed behind him, Inferno hugged Red Alert closely. "I hope that was the right choice."

"So do I." Red Alert whispered as he snuggled deeper in the reassuring strength of his mate's arms. "So do I."


	2. Talking to Prowl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of the non-con, and even dub-con content, outside of some recovery scenes.

Jazz sped through the halls of the Ark, growing more agitated the longer he looked. It was not like his mate and long time lover to hide from him like this. There were times when Prowl needed to get away, Jazz understood that. But he always had some sort of warning before, and it had _never_ happened on an evening when they had planned something, even something as simple as meeting for energon.

His lover was not responding to any of his calls, and even queries to Teletraan had failed to produce a reason for his lover's absence, or a location. Which drove Jazz to resort to something even better. ::Red Alert?::

::Yes Jazz?:: the security director responded.

::I can't find Prowl. Do you know where he is?:: Jazz demanded, his agitation clear.

::Yes,:: Red Alert responded. ::He's hiding.::

::Why? From who? _Where is he_?:: Jazz growled, frustrated.

::You know I don't tell secrets, Jazz,:: Red Alert chastised him gently. ::Prowl comes out when he's ready.::

::He's never hidden this long. Not from me.:: Jazz countered. ::Please Red, I need to know he's all right.:: Jazz paused, then tried a slightly different track. ::I've got energon for him, and won't bug him.::

There was a long pause on the other end, then a harsh x-vent. ::All right. Deck 16, sector 3. You'll have to track him from there.::

::Thanks Red, I owe you one.:: Jazz said, worried enough that the offer was sincere. ::And I won't tell him how I found him.:: He added as he hurried off. Deck 16, sector 3 was, to the best of Jazz's knowledge, completely crushed and blocked off, like so much else in the front of the Ark. But now that he was really looking, and looking for Prowl, he spotted a couple telltale scuffs of white on the ground and lowered himself. It was an opening a minibot or cassette might think of using, but Prowl?

It took some maneuvering for him to get through, and he made a note to find out his lover managed this. There were a couple of things he wanted to try now if his lover was flexible enough to find his way down here.

Finally he slid into an open area, his optics settling on a very still Praxian, curled up as tightly as was physically possible in a small alcove, a datapad in hand but his optics not focused. With a deliberate noise to announce his presence Jazz entered, though he didn't speak as he approached.

Prowl tensed at the sound, optics flicked up, focused and recognition flickered across his features. Those ice blue optics remained focused on Jazz, everything in Prowl's frame screaming that he wanted to talk and wasn't ready.

Jazz knelt by the other mech, producing a cube of energon and placing it in front of Prowl. "One question- is it something I said or did that this is about?"

"No," Prowl looked away, looked down, focusing on the datapad in his hands. "Nothing you did." It was a promise, grave and serious even by Prowl's standards.

Jazz nodded, relieved that he hadn't screwed things up this badly. After a shifting second, he felt the subtle flicker of permission across Prowl's field and sat down next to him, effectively guarding his lover with his own frame from anything that might come through the small gap into this area.

Over nearly another full orn Prowl accepted energon and thought, going over the contents of the datapad time and time again.

"I'm never going to be ready," Prowl eventually vented in frustration. "What do you know of the Zastario?"

Surprise flickered through Jazz's field where it brushed Prowl at the subject matter, but given who was asking there was also the sense of Jazz giving it serious considering instead of just brushing it off as a joke.

"I know that they aren't the myth that everyone wishes them to be, or at least they weren't before the war started." Jazz answered after some consideration. "Other than that, not much. Mostly they are portrayed as evil monsters who whisk mecha away for their own gain, some to never be seen again. Sparkling tales."

"Political lies, for the most part," Prowl vented harshly. "They still exist, and they have a way for us to rebuild our numbers without Vector Sigma."

Intense interest brightened Jazz's optics as he leaned into his mate, wrapping an arm around Prowl to hold him close. "They do? Is that what has you in such a tizzy?" Then he frowned. "Isn't this fact a good thing?"

"In the overall scheme of things, yes. How this pair went about bringing it up, much less so," Prowl leaned into the contact, wanting it more than he cared to admit. "It is a very ... organic ... method of creation." He could feel the alien creator code rumbling unhappily, but the permission he'd received was enough to allow him to speak. "It is not something I expect many mecha will accept, and there are still laws, a Prime decree, that they are to be destroyed on discovery, along with any carrier."

"Destroyed?" Jazz's frown deepened, his arms tightening around Prowl. "Why? And what Prime? That doesn't sound like OP."

"From what I have managed to gather, Nova Prime viewed their ability to create life outside his control as a threat. An inability to carry added to a cultural tendency of not raising their own creations, or even asking permission of the mecha who will, made it fairly easy to declare war on them." Prowl sighed. "That tendency was only exacerbated by the persecution. Any non-seeker triad was immediately suspect. Seekers escaped the persecution because of their political strength, that they all formed trines and they are very aggressive about raising their own creations. Judging from what historical data I have, our current cultural preference for pairs came from that time. A bond of three was dangerous, even if the common mecha did not know why. It requires three for them to create a sparkling."

Jazz hummed, seeing that from different angles, and understanding both sides of the argument. Nova Prime's made little sense, but since most of his later rule had been that of an unstable dictator Jazz was not surprised by reaction or action.

"But there are still some, or at least one, left?"

"At least two. We have a mated pair on board," Prowl nodded. "Three in less than a vorn."

"Really?" Surprise and a little awe flickered in Jazz. "Who? What are we going to do about it?"

"What we do they have left up to me," Prowl shivered, a slightly sick sensation sliding through his field before he controlled it. "They want to be accepted as citizens again. To have the official death sentence lifted. But the cultural issues in integrating Zastario with normal mecha are extensive when it comes to the sparklings. They'll have to change much of their culture, or we will. It is not as easy as it would seem."

Prowl sighed and leaned against his mate. "The pair on board are Red Alert and Inferno." He flinched at the anger of the protective code, but it could do little against their permission except make Prowl all the more uneasy.

"Red and his mate are-?" Jazz laughed a little as lot of little things fell into place. Then Prowl's distress hit him again and he nuzzled his mate. "So they came to you for help. Reasonable of them. So why are you so upset?"

"Because of who the carrier they chose is, and..." Prowl curled in on himself a bit more. "We never even talked about being creators. They didn't ask, didn't even accept..."

"We? You?" There was a surge of confusion from Jazz as he tried to sort that out, understanding what Prowl had said but unable to believe. His mate's distress had him reacting instinctively, holding Prowl close and wrapping him in a field full of care and affection. "Prowl- what happened?"

"They implanted some kind of ... equipment ... in me by interfacing. A sparkling, or it will be one." He struggled to answer, not wanting to hide this from his lover but still barely able to say it to himself. "Chose me because I had a mate, because I was stable." He began to shiver, unable to go any further. His tac-net tried to take over as his emotional state degraded, but protocols designed to maintain his emotional stability stopped it, forcing him to work at processing the mess he was feeling.

"They...forced you?" Possessive anger spiked in Jazz's field, the question escaping as a dangerous growl. If Prowl suffered harm from this, Primus he already was if his field was anything to judge by, Jazz would deactivate them both, consequences be damned.

Prowl was his. His lover. His to protect and teach, to make smile and laugh when no one else could. To cherish while he had the chance. No one was going to hurt him and not pay.

Prowl only managed a small nod and sound that was more a hiccup of his vents. 

"Fields. I couldn't fight." He shuddered, angry with himself, angry with the mechs he'd trusted, angry that he didn't dare act against them or report this for what it was. "This is our race's only hope to survive. We can't hurt them."

Another rumbling growl escaped Jazz, low and dangerous as held Prowl all the tighter, nuzzling and kissing the other as Prowl trembled, needing the support more than he was capable of admitting. "Tell me what we are going to do. Tell me what you want me to do. They had no right, survival or not."

Several deep vents and pressing into Jazz as he struggled to organize his processors enough to reply was enough to calm Prowl down, at least for the moment.

"No, they didn't," Prowl's voice was remarkably steady despite the wild fluctuations of his field. "I am going to accept this new life, raise it as best I can. I am going to tell Prime that I was willing when I argue to have him decree the Zastario Cybertronians." His field and voice hardened. "And I am going to make sure the penalty for using an unwilling carrier are severe."

He paused, forcing himself to integrate his choice into himself. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, even hesitant. "I cannot demand that you accept this creation as your own, or devote your resources to raising it. I am going to ask you to," He looked up, meeting Jazz's optics with real fear in his own. "Please, stay with me, help me raise it."

Jazz shifted his frame around until he was looking directly into Prowl's optics, holding the other mech's helm between his hands as his frame pressed close once more. "What is mine is yours, what is yours is mine. I will not leave you. I promised I would stay, as long as I could and you wanted me, that first orn." He leaned in, catching Prowl's lips in a gentle, passionate kiss. "I meant it then. I still mean it now."

A huge load of tension drained from Prowl as he pressed into the contact. "Thank you." He lifted his arms to embrace Jazz. "Some orns I wonder why I deserve you."

"Maybe you don't." Jazz said, smiling and his field wrapping Prowl with affection, clearly showing that he was teasing. "But since I know I don't deserve you, it all evens out, right?"

Prowl rested his helm on Jazz's chest. "I suppose so. Even if that statement makes no sense at all."

Jazz laughed, holding Prowl close. "Neither of us _deserve_ the other, but we have each other, and that is what matters. Now-" He nudged Prowl's helm up for another kiss. "Ready to face everyone else again, or do I need to go get more energon so you can stay here and think longer?"

Prowl drew in a deep vent of air and let it go. "I'm not ready to face anyone, but at least Ratchet should see me. What is known of this process is woefully inadequate. And ... I suspect he had dealt with more than a few mecha who weren't willing."

"He does." Jazz assured his mate gently, nuzzling him once before backing away. "And I'd like him to take a look at you too." The comment was all concern for Prowl.

"Shall I take the lead then?" He asked, motioning toward the small entrance.

Prowl reluctantly let him go and nodded. "I'm sure you know the best paths to avoid encountering mecha."

"Of course love." Jazz promised, field brushing over Prowl as he turned, leading the way out of Prowl's hiding place, senses all on alert to protect his mate as he pinged Ratchet with a warning that they were coming, but wouldn't be showing up until the medic promised it was clear. It was a request common enough from Jazz that it didn't even raise a question of what or why. Simply a ping half a breem later that the medbay was empty of everyone not in stasis.

The route that Jazz led Prowl on made no logical sense, but true to his word they encountered no other mecha along the way. The doors to medbay slid open to them and Prowl was quicker than usual to step inside so the doors closed, and locked, behind them.

They both saw the surprise on Ratchet's features at seeing them both, at Jazz being fully intact and Prowl acting decidedly unsettled.

"All right, which of you is being repaired?" Ratchet growled at them, waving a hand towards one of the med berths.

Jazz placed a supportive hand on Prowl's back, guiding him to the berth and helping him up on it. Once the Praxian was settled he stepped up to Prowl's helm, still staying close and in contact.

The actions had Ratchet looking at them suspiciously. "What happened?" He demanded as he stepped up and started scanning Prowl.

"First I require level nine medical confidentiality," Prowl said firmly, holding still but leaning heavily on Jazz for the support to hold him steady.

Ratchet's optics brightened with further shock, but he nodded. "Agreed. You have level nine medical confidentiality."

"What do you know of Zastario reproduction?" Prowl asked.

"Zastario?" Ratchet sputtered, pausing to a nanoklik to determine that Prowl was actually serious before he continued. "The theory, as laughable as most medics consider it. My mentor was older and still taught it as fact, but..."

He stopped again, going back through his files to ones that he hadn't accessed since long before the war began. "Reproduction requires a mated and bonded pair, and a third mecha to act as a carrier, often referred to as a 'nest'. The nest is implanted with a seed and specialized transfluid, each component contributed by one of the mated pair. The three then sparkmerge, energizing the components and forming a separate spark, which is then carried to term by the nest until a sparkling separates."

Recount complete, Ratchet frowned and focused on Prowl. "Why do I get the feeling that I don't want to know why you are asking? This is deeper than your population expansion research, I can already tell."

"I am a carrier, if it is true," Prowl nodded, his voice wavering slightly. "They believe they are real, and we have at least one mated pair on the Ark. I can confirm the interface was not completely normal. The sensations correspond to your description of the method. My systems register additional hardware hooked into my systems. What I cannot confirm for myself is what that hardware is."

"Lay back." Ratchet commanded, tone taking on the cool air of authority that worked best with patients like Prowl. "You-" He pointed at Jazz, "step away until I am done with my scans. I need to make sure I am getting accurate readings."

Prowl complied smoothly, his tension and stress easing at the professional manner. "I'll be fine," he reassured Jazz until the mech stepped back.

With another caress Jazz stepped back, allowing Ratchet to start his scans. The medic started at Prowl's helm and began systematically working his way down Prowl's frame.

"Processor normal." He reported. "Upper frame normal. Spark strong and working at what is normal capacity for you. Have you noticed anything abnormal in any of those areas?"

"Tac-net processing is down 12%. It matches the draw of the new hardware." Prowl reported.

Ratchet hummed in acknowledgement, checking that again. "Is it causing you any distress?"

Prowl shuttered his optics. "Yes. You know how poorly I take any reduction in my functionality. The coding intended to protect the sparkling and its creators is also causing stress. Even with permission, it is not pleased that I am speaking of this."

"You have coding for that now?" Ratchet demanded, clearly not pleased. "I'll look at that when I am done with your frame."

"Yes," Prowl murmured. "I hope you can remove it."

"Fuel processing and the rest of your systems look normal..." Ratchet rumbled until he reached Prowl's lower frame, above his interface equipment. There he paused, running multiple scans and concentrating intensely.

Jazz shifted, almost taking a step forward before Prowl shook his helm slightly at him.

"There is a spark resonance in there," Ratchet murmured. "Such a small object. How was it inserted?"

"When one of them overloaded inside my valve," Prowl answered, trying not to shiver in memory of it. "Supposedly it will not affect my appearance noticeably for six of the eight metacycle carrying phase."

Ratchet ran more scans, studying the results carefully. "I'll want to look at these more in depth, and compare them to your baselines, but it looks as though it is already deeply tied to your systems. When did this happen?"

"One orn, twenty-eight joor, two groons, seven breems, and three kliks ago," Prowl answered. "It really is a second spark?"

There was a flicker of surprise from Ratchet. "It moves quickly then."

He checked something else and nodded. "Yes. It is still settling, but it definitely reads as a legitimate spark signature. It is still weak, but measurable. If you are agreeable, I'd like to check your coding now."

"Yes," Prowl ground out, obviously fighting to say that much. His medical dataport spiraled open at Ratchet's touch, allowing the medic to plug in.

Ratchet's focus narrowed to the code that he was sorting his way through, and it was disturbing to him how hard he had to look to find the new code that Prowl had been referencing. It mimicked normal creator coding to a disturbing extent. In fact, if Ratchet hadn't been looking for the specifics that Prowl mentioned he might have missed it all together. The check took longer than normal, Ratchet being more thorough than he had been in a long time. Finally he disconnected and stepped back, looking at Prowl in consideration.

"How much of it needs to be altered for you to be able to function?" Ratchet asked.

"At a minimum, the compliance code demanding I hide the fact I am a carrier and who the other physical creators are," Prowl said firmly.

"That is going to be some delicate work," he admitted after a moment, watching as Prowl nodded. "There really isn't anyone trained to do so in the Autobots, but there are mecha that can likely do it."

"Why not just overwrite the existing code with standard creator coding?" Prowl asked.

"It's a possibility, if that was all that the new coding did." Ratchet said, working through the probabilities of that until Jazz stepped forward, catching both mech's attention.

"What else might be in there?" Prowl focused on the medic.

"It could also contain all the instructions on how to nurture the sparkling and how it comes out without tearing you apart," Ratchet said firmly. "Frag, we don't even know how big it'll be when it comes out."

"Assume the size of a typical sparkling," Prowl suggested.

"Then there is the issue of how something that big fits inside your frame without tearing you apart," Ratchet pointed out. "Nothing like that is in any normal coding."

"I can do it." Jazz offered quietly, looking at Ratchet then focusing on Prowl. "I've edited my own often enough."

"Don't remind me," Ratchet snarled, threatening with his wrench. "Chromedome knows more about programming than anyone still functioning, with the possible exception of Soundwave or Shockwave."

"Neither of which are going anywhere near me," Prowl snarled and started to sit up, his doorwing flaring.

"No they are not," Ratchet agreed and pushed Prowl down before the new carrier could do anything stupid in his quickly building panic. Panic and Prowl were a bad, bad mix even on the best of orns, which this most definitely was not. "But Chromedome...."

"Is bringing yet another mecha into this," Prowl said uneasily as he settled down. "I don't trust him."

"If I can isolate the parts that prevent Prowl from speaking about it, and eliminate or modify those, would it suffice?" Jazz asked, grasping Prowl's hand and squeezing it, reminding the other mech that no matter what Prowl wasn't going to have to face this alone.

"It should," Prowl nodded, glancing at Ratchet for confirmation.

"Yes, but be slaggin' _careful_ in there," Ratchet focused on Jazz. "A wrong move could kill one or both of them."

"Want me to do it here?" Jazz offered, optics drifting to the private rooms. While he didn't particularly care to remain Ratchet's domain any longer than he had to, the closer the medic was if something went wrong the better their chances of fixing it.

And when it came to Prowl Jazz liked to take as few chances as possible.

"Yes," Prowl nodded slightly, leaning against his mate.

"Before he starts, who are the other creators?" Ratchet's tone was almost gentle.

Prowl twitched, squirmed and fought with himself. 

"Red Alert and Inferno." He eventually managed.

There was a ripple of surprise, much like the one that had gone through Jazz when he had learned the same information. "I am going to speak with them as well." He informed Prowl. "Maybe I can learn more about what you, and we, are dealing with."

"Try not to yell at them too much," Prowl said quietly. He stood when Jazz tugged on him lightly and followed into a small private room. Ratchet remained by the door, ready to plug in if anything went wrong, but otherwise trying to remain unobtrusive to the couple.

* * *

Editing complete to Ratchet's approval and Prowl's current satisfaction- at least for the time being- the medic had released both mecha from his care, with the understanding that they were both medical leave until further notice.

Prowl had negotiated for and been granted a minor workload. Satellite duties that could be taken care of from his quarters, wouldn't tax him, and really would wreak long term eventually havoc if not under his jurisdiction. Stretches of evidence from Prowl being out of commission in the past backed up the argument, and it was a small concession on Ratchet's part for the good that it would do, as far as the medic was concerned. It didn't hurt Prowl's argument that it was also a well-proven fact that Prowl's need to work was part of his core code. He really did need something productive to do to remain sane.

Jazz took the notice of his leave in stride, though his processor was flying at light speed as he led his mate through the back halls of the Ark again, the roundabout trip to the section that housed their living quarters another way to encounter as few a mecha as possible. He knew that Prowl was in no shape to deal with even the most benign of encounters right now, much less anything with the likes of the twins or Hound. The scout had too good a spark to let the hurting mech be, and the twins, well, they were the twins, a bane of Prowl's existence.

The speed at which Prowl got into their quarters as the door opened, actually sliding in slightly sideways, was just more confirmation of it. But once in the safety of their quarters, the door closed and locked behind them, Prowl simply stood there, at a loss as to what to do.

"You've already taken care of today's work schedule love." Jazz said, affectionately tugging on Prowl's hand. "For once we have some down time. Spend it with me."

"I'd like that," Prowl managed a weak but honest smile as he followed his mate to one of the very few luxuries that Prowl was willing to requisition: a plush, deeply padded berth with a fine mesh cover. It was decadent by many standards. But for a mech that had doorwings and was more than a bit front heavy, it was prized. This and his office chair were the only things Prowl had made an effort to have physical luxury with.

"Down." Jazz prompted gently, guiding his mate to the bed and watching him intently. The compliance, while not unusual, didn't feel the same. Prowl was still a bit in shock and a lot just numb. It wasn't the numb of a crash, but the numb of having something so emotionally big that there was no coping with it in one shot.

"Snuggle? Detail?" Jazz asked, starting some of the soft music that he knew even Prowl liked before returning to run a hand down his lover's forearm where Prowl could see, the mag emitters in hand on low. "Maybe just a rub-down?"

"That sounds good," Prowl nearly melted as he sank to his front. His optics flickered slightly before turning off to focus on enjoying the feel and teek of his mate. Yes, for right now he could enjoy this. Snatch a few moments of feeling good from what was going to be a brutal vorn on a personal level.

"Any time you want it, love. Just say so." Jazz promised as he started to work from that arm and across Prowl's frame. He paid special attention to Prowl's wings until he felt his mate start to relax. It was a welcome feeling, to have Prowl settle into something that was very close to normal, his engine purring in pleasure and field smooth. This was the Prowl he knew and loved to bring out from whatever pain and stress the universe caused in him.

Jazz continued working over the familiar frame, humming softly with the music, sometimes singing along and just letting Prowl relax and settle before Jazz started to prod at the recent and painful. It would be a shame to ruin Prowl's calm, but it needed to be done. Eventually, with Prowl so relaxed he was nearly in recharge, Jazz reached forward to ghost his fingers over the dataport under Prowl's collar armor. It was a relief when it spiraled open smoothly without a hint of anything disturbed in Prowl's field.

He plugged in smoothly, brushing against Prowl's firewalls with familiar affection and felt them fall with the same. This, at least, had not been violated.

~Lover.~ He purred, affection continuing to pulse across the bond. ~Do I still give good rubdowns?~

~Always,~ Prowl's purr was deep and resonant, relaxed as he was at the best of times.

~Ready to talk?~ Jazz asked, knowing that no one was ever really ready to talk about something like this, but also knowing that the longer it was left to fester the harder it was to face. He felt Prowl deflate under him, but across the hardline was a minute nod and steeling of Prowl's processors. This was hardly the first painful subject he'd had to analyze.

~Tell me what happened, from the beginning.~ Jazz instructed gently, needing to know and understand if he was going to help his lover work through this.

~Inferno came to my office, claimed that Red Alert needed to speak with me securely,~ Prowl began at the point where he felt nothing was wrong. ~It's not that unusual, and while their quarters isn't the first place I expected to go, it was the second. Things are hazy from there,~ he murmured, his uneasiness with the sensation showing clearly as real time commentary overlaid memory files running faster than real time.

While the exact nature of the haze wasn't one Jazz recognized, he knew what being drugged felt like all too well. This was somewhere between a sedative and a memory blocker, mostly the latter. It wasn't a surprise that Prowl's distress at that point wasn't so much from what was being said as the dragging performance of his processor. Most mecha wouldn't have even noticed, but Prowl existed to serve his tac-net and any degradation in performance was a top priority alert.

~Red Alert began talking about my concerns, the population. Touches only you give me, a kiss. I objected, I think. Meant to anyway. It was so hard to think, harder to act.~ Prowl shuddered, at least as distressed by that as what had come next, and not really ready to face either.

~Touches that are still yours, love.~ Jazz promised, assurance that he was here, with Prowl, and planning to stay flowing across the connection and wrapping around Prowl. ~I believe you.~

Thanks flickered back, even through the distress of the memory replay.

~It's all right if you can't remember everything.~ He soothed. ~Whatever you need to know, I can and will find out for you.~ Red Alert and Inferno might not be in good shape by the time that he was done with them, but there needed to be some consequence for what they had done to Prowl. Some justice. And Jazz meant to find it.

After he saw to his lover.

~Then what?~ He prompted gently. ~Can you remember?~

~Some,~ Prowl shied away from the memory even as he wanted to answer his mate. ~I remember it felt good.~ And oh Primus did he wish it hadn't. ~They were both too big. Kept praising me, though I don't remember what.~ He shuddered again, struggling through the remainder of the replay, the overloads, how odd the first had felt. Something they now knew was the implanting of the egg.

~They talked afterwards, but it's too hazy. I don't even remember much of what was said after I came around enough to talk back.~ That was something that bothered him more than the interface itself. His memory was something he relied on, the entire army relied on his memory. The implications of not remembering were too high, too deadly. Mecha died when he didn't remember.

~Shhh love.~ Jazz soothed, sensing his mate slipping away and stepping in to prevent it. Underneath Jazz was angry, far more angry than he could recall being in a long time as he wrapped his mate in a warm blanket of protective possessiveness. ~We are going to be all right. We'll get through this. I am here. They remember. We will speak to them and get it all sorted out.~

"No!" Prowl actually jerked away, panicked at the thought of facing the pair. The why was clear across the hardline, unlike so many cases Jazz had helped with among his agents and others. Prowl was terrified of what their fields did to him, that it would happen again. Not the interface, but the difficulty thinking. _That_ terrified Prowl more than anything that could happen to his frame. It struck at his very function, core coded purpose to his existence.

Jazz followed the motion to maintain the connection, though he didn't try to restrain Prowl in anyway as he continued to send feelings of care and safety to Prowl. "Not alone love. I'll be there. I'll protect you. Trust me." He pleaded, holding out a hand to the Praxian, wanting to get Prowl settled enough to think once more. Seeing flat out panic, too bright, dilated irises, tucked down doorwings and pressed squarely against the wall was enough to make Jazz's spark throb painfully. Yet when Prowl began to shiver, the sensation across the hardline was of calming down. Prowl was still terrified of what could happen, but he trusted and slowly accepted Jazz's offered hand.

A nanoklik later Jazz found himself with an armful of shaking, self-disgusted Praxian that wanted his comfort.

"This is normal. This is fine. This is _good_." Jazz whispered as he held Prowl, magnets in his hands pulsing gently as he stroked the Praxian.

~You are strong. You are brave. You are beautiful. You are my love.~ Words across the hardline enforcing what Jazz was saying, the truths he wanted Prowl to remember and acknowledge.

~This is a mess,~ Prowl growled back, angry and frustrated with himself even as he was grateful for Jazz's comforting protection. ~I'm a mess. I have to trust him. I can't.~

~We have time to work this out. Think about it a little bit.~ Jazz soothed. ~For the good of the Autobots, which is also in his best interest, he has always given you good information. And he has an interest in your personal well being now too. We'll work something out.~

Though from the anger that Jazz was burying someone might need to take a personal interest in Red Alert and Inferno's well being soon.

~I know,~ Prowl shivered in a pain that Jazz had no correlation too. ~I _know_ he'll no longer affect me with his field because there is no need. I _know_ I can trust him with the Autobot cause. I know ... and I can't.~ Pain sharpened in Prowl's processors and he suddenly reached out on a reflexive level, pleading for intervention as his thoughts began to loop.

~Enough.~ Jazz snapped, pushing up against Prowl, then forcing the processor loop to cut with a quick hack that only worked because he was completely uncontested. ~Enough love. Come back to the berth. Let me work on your wings before they start cramping.~

Dazed, Prowl complied, more wanting to remain in his mate's embrace and comfort then caring about where or how. He snuggled close, mentally and physically, leaning on Jazz without shame. The only anger was towards himself, not at his weakness now, but at his weakness before and all the problems it caused.

~Can you edit the memory?~ Prowl asked quietly, knowing he was bringing up a skill Jazz wasn't supposed to have but they both knew he did.

Jazz hesitated, knowing how much damage editing could do. ~What do you want done to it?~

~Reduce the haze, reduce the panic. Change it so I agreed ... or at least take what their fields did away.~ Prowl murmured. ~Strip it out if that's easier, but given the results, it would be better if I don't remember the panic and pain so sharply, but did remember it happened. If you can make it feel less like what it was, all the better.~

Jazz sighed and slowly worked his way into the memory, smoothing over Prowl's resistance, sharpening what he could so that things were clearer for Prowl, and all the time making a copy for himself so that they had an accurate memory for later.

By the time he was finished with the actual event and shifting the focus of stress of a few later memories, he felt Prowl's overall tension and stress level go down by several levels of magnitude. He was still stressed, still distressed, and still at least vaguely aware that he wasn't completely sure of what he was getting himself into when he agreed to share Red Alert and Inferno's berth, but it was now something much closer to what he could easily cope with. It was a quick and dirty and slightly dangerous way to heal, but Jazz could feel how well it was working.

Prowl let out a long, relieved sigh from his vents and snuggled against Jazz rather than tried to hide against him.

Jazz vented softly, smiling in relief as he held Prowl close, nuzzling at his lover. "Ready to come back to the berth love?" He asked softly. 

"Yes," Prowl said, and actually sounded mostly like himself. His touch was affectionate, and while it wasn't intimate, Jazz could read the willingness there. 

What Jazz also knew was the risks. He could edit the conscious memories, what was stored in his memory banks, but there were other memories he couldn't touch. Sense memories. The wrong touch or move at the wrong moment could undo all the work he'd done and leave Prowl confused as to why. Fortunately he knew what had been violated and how so he knew what to be careful of.

There was something to be said about enjoying Prowl's spike, and oral both ways. Hardline was always fun. None of those touches were tainted. There were plenty of ways to pleasure that didn't involve what had been done, so Jazz could work towards that gently. It was a rare case where he was grateful he liked so much variety and had introduced Prowl to nearly all of it.

Jazz settled his lover on the berth once more, touches taking on a suggestive tone as he nuzzled and kissed his lover. "How about some fun before we settle down for recharge?" He purred. "We both rest so much easier, and I've missed your spike."

"I'd like that," Prowl purred agreeably despite how tired he was. Ingrained protocols marked Jazz as safe, the activity as safe with Jazz, and something desirable. "What would you like?" he nuzzled for another licking kiss that drew out into a passionate tangle of glossa.

Jazz took his time answering, indulging in the kiss as his field tickled at Prowl playfully. Finally he broke it off, nudging at his lover's helm in affection as he leaned in to whisper in Prowl's audio. "Take me, nice and long like you do, so that I'm begging in the end. Love the way your spike feels in me, your frame over me so that I'm looking up at you and the sight you make when you're enjoying yourself."

Prowl's engine revved hard at the words, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, his field flaring with arousal as he kissed back hard and eagerly. "I so enjoy being inside you, feeling the way you try to hold onto me as I pull out, the way you part, warm and slick, as I fill you," he rumbled. His hands moved along Jazz's sides before he rolled them over with his lover's help. "Love the way your spike feels in my mouth too, the way you moan and writhe as I take you deep into my intake."

His lover rumbled in appreciation. "You're so good at that too, you know?" He asked, memory prompted anticipation flaring across the hardline. "The best I've ever had, so that you have spoiled me to the point I don't want anyone else? For everything, in everything?" It was the truth too, and it never ceased to amaze Jazz how far his once innocent lover had come, and how perfect Prowl was.

His hands moved to frame Prowl's helm, fingers tracing along the strong features and teasing at the brilliant, optic catching chevron.

"I'm a master tactician, the best ever created," Prowl grinned wickedly at him before he slowly worked his way down Jazz's frame, kissing and stroking. "You taught me well, and I was motivated to learn to be the very best, so you'd never want to wander. I could never deny you what you desire, only work at making you not desire anything else."

"Well, O Mighty Master Tactician, I look forward to seeing what you have planned." Jazz teased, visor shining brightly as he followed his lover's path down his frame, shivering with every touch. "With a few variations of my own, of course."

He reached down and tipped Prowl's face up for a scorching kiss before settling his frame more upright against the head of the berth. "Want to watch your every move until the pleasure blinds me to everything but what you are doing." He purred.

"You do love watching," Prowl purred back, his doorwings fluttering, intentionally catching Jazz's optic as he teased his way along Jazz's abdominal plates.

"Of course I do." Jazz smiled, one hand reaching out to run along the tempting doorwings being so blatantly displayed for his pleasure. ~You're so beautiful to watch, how could I do otherwise?~ He demanded over the hardline as the attention Prowl was paying to his frame drew a moan from his vocalizer.

~I learned for you,~ Prowl purred at the praise. His hands slid down along Jazz's thighs, sliding into seams opened up for him to play along wires and cables.

~Mine.~ Jazz growled, frame shuddering with each skillful touch of his lover's fingers.

~Yours,~ Prowl agreed shamelessly, pleased that he was worth that to anyone. His lips reached the edge of Jazz's spike cover and he ghosted kisses along the seam.

Heat from the systems below warmed his lips, and the cover slid away quickly, eagerness in every motion as his mate's frame arched into the attention. He closed his lip plates around the spike housing and swirled his glossa around it in a tightening spiral until he licked at the very tip, just peeking out of the housing.

Jazz moaned again, hands smoothing over Prowl's doorwings blindly, since his entire visual focus was on the picture his mate made as Jazz's spike started to lengthen and pressurize.

~It was so much fun teach you about this.~ He whispered over the hardline, shivering at each lick of his mate's glossa. ~When you let me taste you the first time. When you wanted to try it for yourself...so wonderful.~

~It felt so good, you seemed to enjoy doing it, there was no reason not to want to do this to you, for you,~ Prowl purred. He easily took the extending spike into his mouth, his glossa working every bit it could reach and leaving the rest to his intake until he heard the familiar click of it locking into place at full extension. Warm affections flowed across the connection, interrupted by Jazz's pleasure at the attention to his spike, and the mech that was giving it.

Despite all his intentions to last, to draw this out, Jazz felt the subtle tricks Prowl was using to speed him along and put it together with how long his mate had been awake, stewing over this, and realized that Prowl was probably a lot more tired that he wanted to let on. The mech was terrible at saying no when it came to Jazz's more amorous side, never mind his own once he'd discovered it.

With a rumbling purr of approval and affection Jazz's hips rolled into the next motion of Prowl's helm. ~Please love. Give it to me.~ He whispered over the bond, asking for the bliss of overload that would allow them both to rest, at least for a bit.

~Anytime,~ Prowl purred, revving his engine and humming to add a bit more vibration to the suction and slide he was already giving. ~I love feeling your bliss.~

Between his mate's needs, his own desires, and the special something that he only ever felt with Prowl the small push was all Jazz needed, strong hands cupping Prowl's helm as Jazz's hips rolled upward. The rush of energy from the overload roared through, concentrating in a physical release of charged transfluid that spill from his spike into his lover's mouth where they were easily swallowed.

Prowl continued to suck and stroke, his intake working the head until Jazz sighed and sank down, relaxed and sated. Only then did Prowl draw upwards, allowing the spike to slide from his lips as his glossa licked it clean.

"Sated?" he looked up at his mate. He was willing to spike him, but he was tired. An overload was nice, but unconsciousness and his defrag cycle was calling him.

Jazz guided him up to where he could kiss his mate, gentle warmth spilling across the hardline. "Entirely, for the moment. I will never have enough of you."

"I know," Prowl's tone held a little of the awe he still felt at Jazz's devotion to him. "I love you too," he murmured as he settled against his mate and shut down, the speed of it telling Jazz just how badly his mate needed it. It was enough that Jazz pinged the schedule and made sure Prowl had nothing demanding his attention for the next orn.

Even with the edited memories, Prowl had a _lot_ to process when he booted up.


	3. Medical Intervention

Ratchet was waiting impatiently in his office, one of the most spy-proof spots in the Ark after Red Alert's rooms and Prowl's tactical center. He'd called the pair responsible for his current mess and hoped they meant it when they said they'd come right away.

He was still a little surprised when the door opened to admit the pair, prompt as they had promised and looking distinctly sober.

"Sit," he waved them to the chairs on the other side of his desk. "I'm sure you know why you're here."

"We have a rather good idea." Red Alert said, surprisingly speaking for them both as he and Inferno took the indicated seats. "We've actually been expecting you to call. Or someone to come get us." He added, his inflection on 'get us' implying a multitude of interpretations.

"Yes, well, despite my opinion, and that of Jazz, Prowl intends to treat this as if it was consensual," the medic growled. "At least on the legal end of things. You're still responsible for traumatizing the pit out of the mech. I can't be at your court martial, but I am going to find out _exactly_ what happened. Did you know that was his first, and likely last, spark merge?"

The expressions of utter shock were enough to inform Ratchet that neither of them had any idea of that fact.

"As long as he and Jazz have been together, I'd have thought..." Inferno rumbled, still trying to process that idea. They both recalled the resistance to the merge, had discussed it afterward, but the fact that Prowl had been resistant to their advances the entire time had made them consider it simply a normal reaction for the other mech.

Ratchet huffed. "One would think so, but until he got between you two, his spark had been untouched. So let's start at the beginning. Why _now_?"

Both mecha squirmed uncomfortably, implying that this was not an easy thing for them to do, or comfortable in the least.

"You know what we are?" Red Alert asked, trying to establish his own starting point.

"I know what little Prowl remembers, which is _disturbingly little_ given what he is, which is a subject we'll get back to, and that datapad he's fairly sure you gave him," Ratchet said, trying to hold his rage in check. "Zastario. Which if proven still has a shoot on sight standing on the books, right up there with Quintessons, though we all know Optimus would never tolerate such an excuse."

The fear in both mechs' optics ran far deeper than anything that could be caused by the medic's wrath. This was fear for their very continued survival, written into their coding and plaguing them now as they huddled together in front of him, Inferno reaching out to pull his mate against him and shield the other with his larger, heavier frame as Red Alert found the courage to speak.

"We are Zastario. We exist, though not quite like the legends and stories paint us to be." He faltered. "The coding...the reproductive one that drives us to reproduce..."

There were several kliks of wordless harsh venting from the small red mech before he managed to continue. "It flared, not long after we landed here. We don't know what triggered it. Simply being in a place with suddenly abundant resources may have been enough. We tried to fight it down, to pacify it. But in the end, we chose a nest, and hoped."

"If you were hoping he wouldn't charge you with the abuse, you chose right," Ratchet's frustration was clear. "What I don't understand from any of it is why you chose a nest that resisted. Why _Prowl_ , who's probably the only mecha on board, with the possible exception of Mirage, that you'd have to force. Damnit to the Pit you two! Why didn't you come to _me_ , or Prime? Surely by _now_ you know he won't condemn you for what you are! You gave Prowl permission to speak to us."

"The code chose Prowl as the optimal choice from those on the Ark." Red Alert replied, slipping into something that he could explain and did understand. "He presented himself as mentally stable. He is in excellent physical condition. He has the rank to protect the creation, but his position also means that he has a greater sense of self-preservation, and is less likely to leave the creation alone unintentionally. He has a long term, established mate to care for him and the creation. We did not expect him to be so resistant to the advances."

"Why not?" Ratchet was genuinely curious now. "Prowl is easily the least likely mech on the entire Ark, probably of all the Autobots, to stray. Even for a single night."

There was another klik of silence, Red Alert and Inferno conversing between themselves with looks and fields in their own language. "We have never had someone resist our fields quite like he did. And we had hoped the explanation afterward would go better than it did." A small, sad smile crossed Red Alert's face. "Prowl is nothing if not logical, usually."

"Being raped is intensely emotional," Ratchet growled. "Being raped by a comrade, by one of the _very_ few you consider a _friend_ ... I'm more than half surprised he made it long enough to get to me. Prowl and emotions are not on good terms on his best orns and you know it." He vented harshly and rubbed the center of his thick black chevron. "You've done this before. How does it work when it goes normally?"

"The nest carries and delivers a sparkling, which then they, and hopefully their mate, raise as their own until it is an adult." Red Alert said, summing it up before going into detail. "Normally, the nest is agreeable to a tryst, they wake up some place safe with a fuzzy memory of what happened, and not with whom. The coding kicks in to care for the sparkling, and things progress from there. Our second creation grew into a happy, healthy citizen who was clearly loved by his creators."

"So you keep an optic on them, normally, but don't help raise them," Ratchet summarized. "But if your code chooses a mecha that isn't agreeable, it doesn't matter. That is going to have to stop you know. Prowl _will_ be the last." He glared at the pair.

"We know. We, at least the two of us, want it to stop." Red Alert said, weariness coloring his words.

Ratchet nodded, accepting that as the truth, and regarded them. "How many others are there? How much can you agree to for all your kind?"

The pair looked at each other before Red Alert shrugged and vented softly. "We don't know. Our numbers still had not recovered from the Extermination under Nova. Inferno and I met one other mated pair before the war started, and neither of us had the benefit of mentors like we were supposed to. There are no more here on the ARK. For all we know, we may be the last."

"How can you tell who's a Zastario?" Ratchet wanted to know. It was important on so many levels.

"We can sometimes get hints and clues just by watching and looking, but field contact is the real confirmation. We can teek another, even if it is just a brush."

"Though it's clearly something within the normal range, or you'd be too easy for anyone else to pick up that you're different. Even I couldn't tell," he grumbled. "Have you ever been wrong? Though someone was when they weren't?"

"Never after a second touch." Inferno said firmly as Red Alert nodded in agreement and expanded. "There is a _shift_ you can feel on a second touch, a response if they are one. If not, you just end up apologizing for pushing a little too hard with your field and move on."

Ratchet nodded, thoughtful. "How do you find out what you are?"

"Under ideal circumstances, once one of our kind reaches their mechling upgrades there are taken in by a mentor, either their own material donors or another mated pair, and are taught everything about our race. They usually stay in contact until the young one finds a mate and the coding become active." Red Alert explained. "Under the best circumstances, the new pair stay under the watch of their mentors until they have reproduced themselves for the first time."

"This coding ensures you choose a mate of your own kind?" Ratchet asked, trying to work out how it possibly survived this long.

"Yes. It takes two of us to create, so our mate needs to be one of our own."

"In theory at least, the mate could be the carrier and you simply find another Zastario when you want to reproduce," Ratchet shrugged. "But on to more important things. How does it work out when you don't have a mentor?"

"No." Red Alert interrupted, going back to the earlier point. "The reproduction coding doesn't activate until we find and bond with another Zastario."

"When you don't have a mentor, things can get...ugly." Inferno started to speak now, shifting in his seat as Red Alert joined him and holding the other close. "I never actually had mentors. Red's were discovered and executed just before we found each other."

Distress filled both mechs' fields as they held each other, visibly needing the support. "Between what he had been taught and the coding we were able to work out what we needed to do."

"Our first nest was a poor choice." Red Alert interrupted bluntly, optics dimming in pain. "A mutual friend. It started well, we had so much hope..."

"But he didn't take to being a nest well," Ratchet guessed. "The sparkling didn't survive."

"The sparkling separated. Neither of them survived." Red Alert whispered.

"We still don't know what happened." Inferno explained quietly as he held his mate. "Officially it was ruled a murder-suicide."

Ratchet nodded. "Which with the political climate could mean a sanctioned double murder, an unsanctioned double murder, or exactly what was written. Your second did better, but didn't survive the war?"

"Much better." There was a fond, if sad, smile this time. "But no ... he was killed early in the war, as was his nest and nest's mate. A bombing that destroyed most of that section of the city."

"Prowl carries your third?" Ratchet wanted to be sure.

"Yes." Quiet hope filled their optics again, not as bright as before, but still there.

Ratchet rubbed his chevron again. "How do your fields work to dull a mecha's processor, and when? If I know Prowl as well as I think I do, _that's_ going to be the biggest issue moving forward."

"The complacency and memory blurring qualities that our fields take on are directly related to the reproduction coding. They won't be active until we're ready to mate again." Red Alert said, humming as he considered the rest. "As to how they work, I don't know. I only know what they do, not how. They make a mech practically unable to resist our advances, make the experience physically pleasurable for the nest, and blur the nest's memory so they remember what happened, but not with who."

"How much warning do you get before the reproductive coding activates?" Ratchet sighed. Prowl wouldn't be happy, but at least the answer was good enough for him to deal with the pair on a working basis. Just probably not together again, or at least not together without Jazz in the room.

"Usually quite a while. Ours activated just after we woke up here." Red Alert considered. "I am not sure what is standard, but Inferno and I average about once every thousand vorns or so. The war and lack of resources put the coding on hold. It was no time for sparklings."

"That much I don't think anyone will argue," Ratchet muttered. "So we aren't likely to deal with yours again for a long while. Any idea what happens if a Zastario only has a full sibling as mate potential?"

"No. Though there have been several theories on the matter, proposed after the first major Extermination. Some think that the coding will refuse to activate. Others think that as long as they came from a different nest it will still, since the nest does have some influence on the code. But it's never been tested. As far as we know, no full siblings have even bonded." Red Alert explained.

"And the closest thing the rest of us have to go on are completely different, since they activate already bonded," Ratchet briefly closed his optics. He wanted to be so angry with the couple in front of him, and they'd done a terrible thing, but they'd been _raised_ to do so. Ignorance was actually half a defense here, as sick as it sounded. With Prowl refusing to press charges and a sparkling coming of it ... oh Primus he was not ready for that process.

"All right. Keep yourselves available, avoid Jazz and be expecting Prime to want to talk to you soon," he paused before looking at them wearily. "I meant it about Jazz. Prowl may have forgiven you, but his mate has definitely only just started to get angry about it."

Both mecha nodded at him, Inferno hugging his mate close once more before they untangled themselves from the seat and rose. "We will." Red Alert promised, already taking some liberties with the security system he was tied to, programming it to track Jazz's movements more closely so that he and Inferno could do their best to stay out of the other mech's way. He told himself it wasn't illegal: he was only protecting Autobots, including Jazz.

"Then scat. I'll ping you when I have more questions, though that datapad probably covers it all," Ratchet groused, waving them off.

Red Alert nodded. "It contains all we know of our kind between the two of us, and the history of our creations." He said as he and Inferno headed for the door and let themselves out of Ratchet's office.


	4. The Next Morning

Jazz booted up long before Prowl, though they began at the same moment. Jazz had his alarm set for when Prowl began to power up. It gave him a full breem to sort out his thoughts and be ready.

He wrapped his arms around his mate, holding Prowl gently and surrounding him with a warm field full of care that served the double purpose of allowing him to gauge his mate's condition as Prowl booted. It also gave him time to get the intense anger he felt every time he thought of what had been done to Prowl under control. There was no reason to subject his lover to that sort of emotion, even if it was for him and not at him. It also gave him time to sort through his own memories, some horrors reaching so far back they were practically buried, and plan.

When those ice blue optics he loved so much finally lit they instantly focused on him. It was a warm feeling to realize that the tension in Prowl's frame melted away when recognition clicked.

He smiled at his lover and leaned in to nuzzle at Prowl's cheek. "Morning, my love."

"Morning," Prowl's voice was soft as he reached up to brush Jazz's cheek with tender affection. "Glad you're here."

Jazz laughed, turning his helm to nuzzling into Prowl's palm, kissing it. "Me too. And I should be for a long time, short of an emergency that no one else can handle."

"Which does occur with irritating regularity," Prowl said despite the slight smile.

His attention shifted to Prowl's face, claiming another kiss that was returned warmly. "And you know that I will always come back to you."

"I know," Prowl smiled a little more warmly as the kiss turned lightly amorous, questioning more than demanding.

"I'm good for right now love, though we both know how long that lasts when it comes to you." Jazz said. "And I've taken the liberty of making some arrangements for the morning."

"Oh?" Prowl raised an optic ridge. Jazz's surprises were something he looked forward to in general, at least since they'd begun to share a berth.

Jazz smiled. "A completely empty washrack, for our use, until we are done. With a snack before and fuel afterwards."

Prowl's engine revved and he claimed a kiss before breaking awake to stand. "I do like your arrangements."

"Good." Jazz said as he rolled from the berth and went to where he had the two small cubes of high grade stashed. He had been saving them for something special, but the extra attention that his mate needed at the moment more than qualified. He handed one to Prowl. "I aim to please."

"You usually do," Prowl murmured, catching Jazz's lips for a kiss before letting him go to savor a mouthful of the high grade. "You are one of the few mecha who can match my record on successes."

"Quite the compliment, coming from you." Jazz teased, though his visor glowed and his field warmed at the praise.

Prowl snatched another quick kiss and hummed, his field warm and affectionate with that undertone of feeling emotionally safe that so very few mecha ever teeked. "You earn them, as you've earned everything."

"None I want to keep so much as your affections." Jazz purred, wrapping an arm around his mate to snuggle as he took another sip of the high grade. Their next kiss tasted of that sweet high grade and they lingered with it.

"You are in very little danger of losing that," Prowl purred, content to remain against his mate as they sipped the high grade and trade little kisses until it was gone.

"Which makes me very happy." Jazz said as the cube vanished in a pulse of energy and he claimed one more lingering kiss. "As does arranging little things to make you happy, such as having the washracks all to ourselves for a bit."

"And not losing recharge for it," Prowl rumbled before reluctantly pulling away. "Being clean does sound very good."

"Then let's get you clean so I can give you a proper detailing." Jazz proposed, knowing how his lover liked to be clean and polished, the image of a proper officer.

Prowl's purr deepened and he willingly followed his mate from their quarters to the officer's washrack, which was obligingly empty, and soon locked with Prowl's code. Not that he actually expected anyone would try to come in, but it made him feel a bit more secure and after what happened, he needed a little extra bit of security to relax.

Jazz said nothing, merely turning the solvent on to warm and gathering all of the cleaning supplies that he knew his lover preferred after their vorns together.

His optics drifted to his mate, field warming with the memories of how he had learned this knowledge. Trial and error and time, enjoyable, spent in Prowl's company as he practically stalked the other mech in his attempts to gain first Prowl's notice and then his affections. It had arguably been one of the longest missions of his existence, and easily the most frustrating of those that didn't involve the deactivation of a comrade, but it had also brought the highest rewards on a personal level. He could leave his career behind, remake himself from pedetip to the top of his helm, but if he had Prowl with him he wouldn't care. Prowl was his stability, his sun to orbit.

Under the hot shower Prowl stood still, his armor extended fully and his doorwings angled to capture the spray. It felt good, very good, to feel the cleanser run down his frame and draw out much of the grime of existing on an organic world. It had been four and a half orns since he'd made time to clean himself, longer since he'd had a good detailing, and he felt it now how much better his mood was just in anticipation of being _clean_ again.

His mate's mood rose with his own, mirrored in the field that wrapped around him as Jazz approached and the first gentle touches of a scrub on his helm, Jazz intending to clean his mate from top to bottom. It was all the signal Prowl needed to kneel, smoothly folding down to his knees so Jazz had easy access to his upper frame without stretching or guessing if a spot was clean. It was a rare treat to be able to relax this much. Even in the officer's washrack Prowl had too much rank to kneel with others around, unless it was to his Prime. Here though with the door locked and only his lover and Red Alert to witness, it was safe enough.

The thought of Red Alert made his vents suddenly stutter and his doorwings pull in tightly.

"Shhhhh, love." Jazz soothed, pausing to deliver a gentle kiss to the top of his lover's helm. "I am here. You are safe." He promised, then started to sing. The song was unimportant, though it was one for lovers. Jazz simply wanted a vocal reminder on top of everything else for Prowl. He didn't need to hear what had caused the reaction. It was a short list really, and it all went back to things that didn't need to be said. Jazz had Prowl's memory file, such as it was. He knew the level of trust that had been broken for Prowl. So he sang, and caressed the center of Prowl's chevron along the lines in it, and felt the warmth spread through him at how quickly the distress eased out of Prowl's frame and field.

It would never be far away for some time, but for now Jazz could shoo it away with his touch and that was a wonderful thing to know.

Once Prowl was calm under his hands once more Jazz returned to cleaning his mate, long soothing strokes along the flat plates of armor and more careful attention paid to every nook and crevice as the dust and irritants of this world were washed away. It wasn't a ritual yet, they couldn't do this often enough for it to be a ritual, but the pleasurable calm it brought them both was a welcome balm in a too-long war.

By the time Jazz finished Prowl's doorwings the Praxian had lost all the tension and settled into a content, calm warmth where his engine purred and his field was little more than the strong pulse of his spark.

Jazz worked his way around the Praxian's shoulders and upper chest before tipping Prowl's face up for another kiss. "Stand so I can finish love?"

"How about a little reward first?" Prowl purred seductively before planting a kiss directly over Jazz's spike on the cover.

A shiver ran through Jazz's frame as he stroked Prowl's helm and smiled. "I'd like that. Especially if I get to return the favor later."

"Always," Prowl rumbled, his relaxed engine giving a little rev at the prospect. Once he's gotten the mechanics of giving oral pleasure, he'd quickly come to enjoy doing so. It felt far more intimate than a regular interface, even if it was less mutual. With a little prickle of excitement in his field he planted another kiss, then shifted to licking the seam to send the smallest wisps of pleasure into his mate.

Perhaps it was the level of trust involved. Maybe it was just the fact that Jazz could resist no form of pleasure when it came to his chosen mate, but the cover slipped away just as quickly as it had the night before, Jazz's field already flaring in anticipation and pleasure. Prowl's glossa gave teasing little licks around the spike housing, drawing in deep intakes of air full of his mate's complex chemical signature that was as much protoform as oils, lubricants, cleansers, polish and wax.

"Remember when I first worked out how much I enjoyed doing this?" Prowl cooed up between teasing touches intended to draw out that spike that brought him so much pleasure. "How concerned you were that I felt obliged to do this. It blew your processors the first time you were plugged in when I got my mouth around your spike, at how much I felt to work my intake around it and hear you moan."

"It still does love, every time. You're so special, so unique. It's amazing how much you enjoy this." Jazz said as he smiled at his mate, moaning softly as the tip of his spike released into that teasing pleasure. "You're so hard to resist, and I love it. Love how much you enjoy all of this. Love pleasing you as well." Jazz said.

It was amazing, to someone who had so much more experience with other mecha, had things that he preferred and those he preferred to avoid, and how none of that applied when it came to Prowl. Because it all felt good with Prowl, so long as his mate enjoyed it as well, and his mate enjoyed it all. He'd spent enough time hardlined and watching, because Prowl had no shame in what he felt, to know the different flavors of enjoyment Prowl gained from various acts. This one was the opposite of how Jazz felt of it. To Prowl, this, bringing an overload with his mouth, was an act of power. It was only a hint, but it was there. He usually wanted to do this when he was feeling unsteady about himself.

The flip side, when Jazz sucked him off, was about giving power. It was an act of trust, because Prowl was all too aware of how vulnerable he was relative to his lover. For a mecha that had never been intimate before Jazz, Prowl had an unusually strong set of associations with various acts. It occasionally made Jazz wonder if he'd really been Prowl's first and Prowl had deleted the memories, or if Prowl simply over-thought this the way he did everything.

Either way, it only mattered what Prowl considered him, and that Prowl wanted him. And if Prowl wanted this- Jazz couldn't stifle the moan as his spike pressurized into his lover's mouth- Jazz wasn't about to argue with him. He focused on stroking Prowl's chevron, giving a little pleasure as he willingly lost himself in the warmth and skilled mouth of his lover. Prowl's hands slid along his hips, giving support and ready for when the overload hit to keep Jazz upright.

Long strokes of the glossa, the tightening of an intake, the ring of pressure of lip plates all sent a dizzying array of signals into Jazz's neural net as wave after wave of building pleasure washed through his frame. His hips rolled, his lover's hands guiding and not restraining.

"Don't know how you do this." Jazz moaned as his vision started to flicker. "Make it feel so wonderful, so right."

Prowl couldn't reply with his mouth occupied, but he smiled and began to hum. A very specific frequency that had taken him vorns to match. A resonance that went directly to Jazz's spark. It drove his lover over the edge every time, pulling pleasure from Jazz in a way that made the other cry out uncontrollably, Prowl's designation the only distinguishable thing escaping his lips as the overload roared through him.

Prowl welcomed the gushing of hot, crackling fluids into his mouth and intake, quietly reveling in his ability to do this, the sense of power that felt so good. He held Jazz securely by the hips, ensuring his lover didn't fall as he continued to lick and suck until Jazz came down from his own bliss. Only then did Prowl slowly allow the spike to slide from his lips before he stood for a tender, affectionate kiss.

Jazz hummed softly, savoring the kiss before leaning his forehelm against his lover's. "Going to have to give me a klik or two before I can finish, after that."

"I'm not going to complain about a few extra moments to hold you," Prowl indeed teeked content to remain there, enjoying the flow of Jazz's lingering pleasure across their fields. "You're amazing when you surrender like that."

Jazz's hands traveled down his lover's frame, fingers slipping under armor plating to gently stroke the wires and cables protected underneath. "I love doing that with you." He murmured, helm falling to rest on Prowl's shoulder. "My love."

Prowl smiled gently as he continued to hold his lover, their fingers playing at arousing each other gently, slowly. "I could be content with just you," he whispered, meaning it with his spark. He didn't care how much his processors rebelled at the idea of having 'nothing' to do.

"And I with you." Jazz leaned into him, speaking truth and smiling. "Maybe after this war is over I can try to keep you entertained." He teased.

It was a far-fetched hope and they both knew it, but to acknowledge that fact was to give up without fighting, and that was something that neither of them was able to do.

"And that bar to keep you entertained," Prowl purred, his fingers continuing to stroke his lover affectionately. "I'd enjoy seeing you socialize because you wanted to."

"With you to help me." Jazz sighed, field smoothing as he allowed his processor to wander over that a little. "I can wander through customers and you can take care of all the boring stuff. And then I can take you home every night and spoil you like you deserve."

"The boring stuff that I enjoy doing," Prowl chuckled affectionately with a kiss to one stubby sensor horn. "You make sure business keeps coming in, I make sure their shannix serves us well."

"Agreed. Though before we can get to any of that I think I need to finish the job I started. Now that I have my legs back." Jazz teased.

"Mmm, as you desire," Prowl gave the sensor horn another kiss and loosened his hold on his mate.

"Only you." Jazz countered as he dropped to his knees and began to work on his mate once more. The smooth feel of Prowl's armor under his fingers and the shine after he scrubbed was a pleasure of it's own that shone in his field as he continued to work clean down to his mate's pedes.

Once there he stopped, fingers tracing lightly over a leg as he finished and back up to Prowl's hip. "I think there is a favor I need to return." He suggested, looking up at Prowl.

A flare of arousal answered that, but behind the arousal was a flicker of uncertainty mixed with unease that had no root. Instead of the spike cover sliding opening, the valve cover did. "Please?" Prowl looked back at his lover. It wasn't something they really did, but he wanted it right now, wanted to feel his mate's glossa and fingers clean the _other_ from him.

"Of course, my love." Jazz purred catching Prowl's hands in his and kissing one before guiding his lover back against the wall. Nothing that Prowl could ask of Jazz was too much, a fact that Jazz was still proving to his lover, and willing to prove as often as needed.

As soon as his mate was settled Jazz's focus shifted, his hands moving to Prowl's hips as he nuzzled and kissed his way down Prowl's armor. Gentle licks and kisses marked his passing over the spike cover before finally reaching the edge of the platelets surrounding Prowl's valve. It was already slick, and despite the orns that had past, Jazz's chemo-sensors could pick up the residue of both mecha that had been there since Prowl had last cleaned up. It wasn't something he was used to on his lover. Even if rank hadn't been an inhibitor, Prime was the only mecha Prowl would willingly interface with, but that was only because he was Prime. Something that Optimus was keenly aware of and intent on avoiding. Plus it had been ages since Prowl's last capture, not that they'd used him that way, luckily enough.

He vented softly, hands stroking Prowl's thighs as his glossa teased at the platelets, tasting his mate and wanting nothing less than to reclaim what was _his_. This was why he was always so careful to clean up _thoroughly_ before Prowl saw him after a mission that went that way. Just because Prowl knew it happened didn't mean he had to be faced with the evidence, and unlike what Jazz went through, his mate had not chosen a path that included this thing that had been forced upon him, he was not prepared to deal with it on any level. It made this an honor that his mate wanted him to do this. It was an extension of the trust displayed other ways. This was a trust that Jazz would make Prowl feel better without resenting him for what had happened.

So a small part of Jazz's processor cataloged to the foreign scents and tastes, while the bulk of his attention focused on his mate. Small licks to the platelets surrounding the valve teased Prowl as Jazz checked his mate's balance.

As soon as he was sure it was steady a hand slipped to Prowl's knee, gently lifting and guiding the leg to rest over Jazz's shoulder and give Jazz better access. Above him Prowl moaned with a soft shiver. He easily shifted his balance for the new position and relaxed into it. Trust, desire, pleasure, _want_ all flowed freely, but woven among those expected emotions were also hints of shame and fear. They were emotions Jazz expected after what happened, but he wasn't entirely sure Prowl knew it was normal, much less how to deal with it.

"Mine." Jazz whispered, glossa dipping past the first ring of platelets of mates valve. "All I ever wanted. All I need." He added as his field reached out to wrap Prowl in acceptance and the sense that all would be right again. He felt Prowl reach out for that assurance, accept it, trust it, just as he trusted Jazz's touch.

"Yours, always yours," Prowl moaned in reply. It was a reflexive response, but he meant it all the same. They both felt the psychological easing of Prowl's state as Jazz's glossa wiped away physical traces of what happened. It wouldn't sooth everything, even if all it had been was an interface, but it definitely helped.

With that acceptance Jazz's glossa delved deeper, seeking the nodes and savoring the unique flavor that was his mate, and letting it all flow back to Prowl.

The possessive pleasure that Jazz got in being allowed something that only he was given. Others could take, but only he was given this. Only he was trusted enough, loved enough, desired enough, to be given such access to Prowl's frame and the vulnerability that Prowl perceived came with overloading.

Prowl's vents hitched with a faint tremble of his doorwings against the wall as the charge built inside him. "Feels so good," he whispered.

His mate purred in delight at the praise and Jazz shifted the angle of his helm, somehow reaching deeper in his mate's valve with his glossa as his free hand shifted to caress the sensitive platelets. Over him Prowl shivered again, his fans kicking up a notch as he moaned, fully losing himself to the pleasure and who he was with.

Pride flared at the response from his mate, and Jazz concentrated all of his energy on giving Prowl the relief and release the other was seeking. It was only moments before Prowl was gasping, then his hands found Jazz's helm and curled around it. Little spikes of electricity danced from the valve lining to Jazz's glossa, making it tingle.

"Jazz..." Prowl barely managed the breathy whisper before his frame tightened, drawing his lover in as his voice rose to a keen of much-needed release on his own terms. Trembling with a locked frame was more a vibration, testament to the strength of the overload that jazz could feel at each point their frames connected.

Jazz moaned softly, savoring his mate's pleasure as his glossa continued to work Prowl's valve and his hands steadied his mate until the Praxian slumped in his grip and against the wall. Strong white hands shifted from holding Jazz's helm to stroking it, the thumbs circling stubby sensor horns as he worked to recover.

With a few final licks Jazz released his hold on his mate's leg and shifted his helm back to look up. "So beautiful." He praised, hands stroking along Prowl's thighs.

Prowl hummed, not quite up to words yet as he continued to stroke Jazz's helm. Eventually he rebooted his vocalizer and met Jazz's visor as he tugged his lover upright for a kiss, tasting himself on Jazz's glossa. "You are so good to me," he murmured.

* * *

Optimus Prime settled behind his desk and regarded the gathering of officers and one enlisted in his office. Ratchet was angry. Jazz looked like Prowl was the only thing holding him back from a very messy murder. Prowl looked more unsettled than Optimus had seen him in ages. Red Alert and Inferno seemed to be silently debating whether they should be more afraid of Jazz or Prime.

He locked his gaze on his CMO. "I presume this is about why I haven't seen my Second in Command in over a month and a half."

"It would indeed. And why you aren't likely to be seeing a lot of him for another seventy five years or so." Ratchet growled, though the sound was almost one more of general frustration than anything specific.

"What?" Prowl whirled on the medic, optics too bright and doorwings flared high in a mixture of shock and aggression. "There is no reason I can not resume my duties in full."

"With your tac-net down 12% in efficiency already, a number that will only get worse as the sparkling draws on your systems more, I'd say there is," Ratchet reminded him, then sighed when he actually saw the Praxian flinch. "There is no reason you can not resume some duties, but until I know how this is going to affect you and you are going to handle it, I am retaining full authority to reduce them at any time. And to confine you to the Ark, or even your quarters if need be."

"Twelve percent?" Optimus raised an optic ridge. "What could cause that for so long?"

"I'm carrying a sparkling," Prowl snapped, his irritation with Ratchet and the situation playing out in a tone he would normally never take with his Prime.

If Ratchet was at fazed by Prowl's show of aggression it wasn't visible, but just how worked up the Praxian was getting was evident as Jazz moved closer to his mate and reached out to stroke between Prowl's doorwings soothingly.

Anything Prime thought about it was gone the moment sparkling registered. "Ratchet?" He looked at his CMO with bright, stunned optics. "A sparkling, not from Vector Sigma?"

"Yes, a sparkling. One that did not come from Vector Sigma. One that, in fact, will open many optics when the truth comes out, since few mecha in this age believe the Zastario more than fictional monsters to scare younglings with." Ratchet said as looked at Red Alert and Inferno.

The pair were paying him no heed though. Optics, wide and practically white with fear, were centered on the current Prime as they waited for judgment and quite possibly a death sentence.

It was Prowl who took pity on them for the ignorance of the current Prime of so much that happened before his time. "Nova issued a decree that all Zastario and those that carried one be extinguished on discovery." He said flatly.

It took a painful moment for that to fully penetrate Optimus's processor, and when it did his snarl was one of pure outrage and much more suited to the dock worker he had been than the Prime he was now. "Make whatever forms are required to undo that psychopath's decree," his rumble was directed at Prowl, who nodded. His gaze shifted to the bonded couple. "How many of your kind are there?"

A great deal of the tension drained out of the pair, Red Alert actually collapsing against his mate in relief. He was still shaking as he found the ability to answer the Prime. His Prime.

"We are the only ones here on the ARK. Whether others still function on Cybertron or among the Decepticons we do not know." Red Alert said quietly. "There were few of us to begin with."

"Are you willing to create sparklings with others?" Optimus focused on what was most important to him; the future of their race.

The fractional stiffening of Prowl's frame was not missed by anyone, but neither did anyone question him on it.

"We don't know precisely when the coding that drives us to create will flare again, though we have heard about our kind being able to reproduce outside of it." Red Alert hummed before actually tackling the question he had been given, taking the interval to read his mate's field.

"We do not have a set third. Inferno and I are happy with any willing nest that satisfies the coding." Red Alert was careful to emphasize willing, already having started searching their coding and isolating the triggers and rankings that determined the worthiness of a mate. While all of the primary factors were important, he theorized that if the key determinate could be another mecha's willingness, the other factors would fall in place in relevancy.

He just needed more time, and others to check and implement his work.

"The medical and science divisions will assist you as much as possible to determine the triggers and document the process so future carriers know what to expect," he paused and looked at his SIC, who simply nodded with a disgruntled huff. Prime's focus shifted back to the best possible chance their race had. "Can you tell who are Zastario?"

"Yes. We have to be close enough to touch fields. At least once, preferably twice."

"Then we will arrange for Inferno to have contact with as many mecha as possible," Optimus told them, respecting how much Red Alert hated to travel, or leave his security office. "Hopefully the announcement might bring a few more to us."

"The announcement might, but you might want to not announce that you are sending Inferno to look for more, at least as long as it can kept quiet." Red Alert suggested. "We are just as likely to hide from our own right now."

"Why?" Optimus asked.

"As long as Inferno and I have served under you, our trustworthiness might be questioned as well. It has been a long time since we've had a Prime that we could trust." He shuddered, optics sinking to the floor as he leaned deeper into Inferno. "This is still not easy for us."

Prime inclined his helm in understanding. "This will be kept as quiet as possible," he promised. "Do you have any recommendations for how to approach any who are found?" his gaze shifted to Prowl and Jazz and softened. "Unless there is more for you to add, you may return to your quarters, with my blessing for the new life you support."

"Thank you, Prime," Prowl's mostly kept his voice even before he turned. Though his gate was steady, it was as close as any of them had seen him to fleeing a non-combat situation, and the way Jazz moved with him had never been seen out of combat.

Ratchet sighed. "I'll explain later. It's nothing that is critical today."

"Very well," Optimus accepted the promise before focusing on the bonded couple once more.

Red Alert waited respectfully until the others had departed and the door to the Prime's office had closed once more before he spoke. "It might be wisest to wait until the new sparkling is old enough to be displayed to the public. Proof that he and everyone still lives will do a great deal to reassure them that it is safe. Being up front about the coding changes and the new laws that surround our existence will build trust."

Optimus nodded. "Agreed." He regarded the pair warmly. "While it is clear that you can function as normal mecha, are there any changes beyond your legal right to exist that that would make your existence better?"

Both mecha looked startled as though the thought had never occurred to either of them. They stared at Optimus until Red Alert managed. "We have been wrapped up in surviving for so long...it is something that we would have to think about. The changes to our coding, the things that are needed to make our existence acceptable to the general population, is the main focus right now."

"Of course," Optimus nodded and looked at Ratchet. "You will keep me informed of the progress on both counts."

"Of course," the medic huffed. "Like I'd do anything less."

"Then you are dismissed," Optimus looked at the Zastario. "You will make yourselves available to medical and science as needed. Otherwise your duties are unchanged. This will not be spoken of until the decree undoing Nova's is formalized."

"Thank you Prime." Red Alert said, recognizing the dismissal and rising with his mate. There was sorrow and regret that Optimus could read in them, but there was also a hope that had not been there when they had come visible as they departed.

Now with only Ratchet in the room with him, Optimus turned to his old friend, weary and elated all at once. "Now, what is being so carefully not spoken about that has Prowl distrusting what was one of his very few friends and Jazz clearly wanting to kill them both, slowly."

Ratchet let out a long gust of air and dropped heavily into a chair in the casual corner of the Prime's office. Without a word Optimus took two cubes of good high grade from his cabinet and handed one to his old friend before sitting himself. Ratchet busied himself with the cube for a long klik.

"There's no easy way to say this, no way this is anything but a mess," the CMO huffed. "No matter what is going on the records, Prowl was neither informed that he was going to be a nest, nor did he consent to the interface itself. He's insisting this is informed and consensual for the good of our race. It doesn't make it any less horrific for him, or Jazz. He's going to be in therapy for a long time, assuming he doesn't convince Jazz to do some Ops thing to the memories."

Optimus's optics darkened with a low rumble. "As pragmatic and subservient to his cause as Prowl is, I can't say I'm surprised at his choices."

"His cause?" Ratchet raised an optic ridge.

"It is the Autobot cause. When they are done, he will find another," Prime said simply. "You've seen his code. The subservience coding is too integral to him to touch."

The medic huffed in frustration at the reminder of his inability to do something.

"Will Prowl survive this?" Optimus asked gently, true concern for an officer and a _friend_ in his voice. "Anything that can be done to ease the burden on him should be done."

"We are," Ratchet promised, not just for himself but for Jazz and the two mechs who had just left. "There is no reason he shouldn't, even if the coding to protect the sparkling wasn't there. He's strong, he has a purpose, and he has very strong support from those who care about him. Whether he'll ever allow either of them in the same room with him without Jazz there is less likely. They knew what they were risking when they did that. Much as I wish it were different, Red Alert was one of only two mecha living I've ever heard Prowl refer to as friend. This won't help that change."

Optimus vented softly, almost not sure if he should ask the next question but needing to know the answer. "In your opinion, if we can make this work, could this be the key to saving our race?"

"Yes, and with a bit of social organization, we can make it work," Ratchet admitted. "The trauma is in the way they went about it, not the process itself. For a mecha who's willing, who's ready to be a creator, there's nothing inherent in the process that causes distress. I'll know a lot more as Prowl's carry progresses, but this has been going on since at least Alpha's time, maybe since the beginning. It would have never gone so far underground in the first place if it hadn't been for Nova and his need to control."

Silently Optimus cursed the self-centeredness of some of his predecessors. Mecha who had allowed and even advocated so many of the practices that had led them to where they were today- a race embroiled in a bitter civil war far from their own world and on the brink of extinction.

"How does Jazz seem to feel about the situation? Besides his rather justifiable desire to maul Red Alert and Inferno?"

Ratchet chuckled darkly, then sighed. "My estimate is that he's still so focused on keeping Prowl stable he hasn't paused to think about what it means for himself yet. Neither of them are what I'd call desirable creator material, though I'm sure they'll do their best."

"We can only hope they manage to surprise us all, as they so often do." Optimus went quiet as his processor went off on another path. "Arrangements will need to be made to keep Jazz as close as possible, and to have Prowl watched if he must leave."

"Yes they do, and I have no doubt they will try. Prowl being _watched_ will not be a problem," Ratchet sorted through his vents. "Neither will being alerted if something does happen to him or the sparkling, whether Jazz is on a mission or not. I'm honestly much more concerned about the level of psychological and emotional harm those two will unintentionally inflict on the bitlet once it's out in the world. Jazz may fake being a cheerful, friendly, nice Autobot very well, but we both know it's only a facade, just another of his masks. Prowl's not that much better off, and he doesn't fake normal nearly as well."

"If the need arises, others will be found to raise the sparkling." Optimus decided, though he rather hoped that it wouldn't come to that.

"I recommend its other creators," Ratchet said dryly. "They made it, they really should need to raise it. Red might not be stable, but Inferno's one of the most balanced mechs on base. Besides, they'll have to take some part in it's education, since it'll be their kind, not ours. Same recommendation if Prowl rejects it once it's out."

"True. Perhaps see what they work out on their own first, before we step in."

"That's always the best first step," Ratchet gave him a small grin and took a deep gulp of the energon. "So who do you think will carry, you or Elita?"

Optimus actually choked on his energon, optics bright as he recovered and stared slack-jawed at the medic for a long klik. "What?"

"Oh come now Optimus, surely the two of you planned to be creators at some point, it's just going to go a little differently than usual," Ratchet didn't hide his mirth at his leader's expression. "You know as soon as Elita finds out about this she'll want one."

"As soon as it is safe to have one." Optimus conceded, knowing his mate and admitting the fact to his friend.

"Who else do you think is going to jump at the chance?" Ratchet settled back, content to chat about less stressful subjects for a while.


	5. Starting to Work Things Out

Jazz guided his lover carefully through the halls of the Ark. Prowl had been getting better, not needing to avoid everyone as he moved about the Ark. At least until he had been until Jazz had gone to pick him up from his therapy session with Ratchet. His mate, still calm and collected on the outside, was deeply shaken and distressed. A state that Jazz had rather expected, even if he had hoped otherwise. Things were bound to get worse before they got better, and at the moment all of his attention was focused on getting Prowl back somewhere safe, and then getting him settled so he could process. It was a pattern he knew well from the handful of sessions Prowl had already had. Therapy, sneak home, hang out quietly while Prowl processed for a few joors, on with life.

This time it might be more than a few joors, Jazz noted to himself as he gauged Prowl's agitated state. When the door closed behind him the click of the lock was expected. Suddenly having Prowl's mass pinning him to the wall next to it was not. Though the hard, demanding and slightly frantic kiss was pretty hot.

He surrendered instantly, kissing his mate passionately as he relaxed against the wall and devoted a small part of his processor to trying to figure out what had brought this on as the rest of it simply enjoyed what was happening. It wasn't the first time Prowl had pinned him, and he was desperately grateful that events hadn't robbed his mate of that passion, but the desperation in the frame against his was unusual.

Not unexpected, but unusual. Prowl wasn't much on 'facing out of desperation. That was more Jazz's thing as a way to remember he was alive and there was something worth having after a particularly bad mission.

This, different as it may be, was still welcome. Prowl's hands explored his frame, knowing every spot to stroke and wiggle into from long experience and oh _Primus_ he was good when he got like this!

Jazz moaned as his frame pressed into his mate's touches, field flaring with how wonderful and welcome this was as his glossa wrestled with his mate's and he worked to return the touches that were rapidly heating his frame and making his valve slick while his spike pinged for release. Whatever Prowl wanted, he was ready, willing and eager.

"Love you," Prowl's voice was pitched low and seductive. "Only you. I only ever want you."

"And you know that I am only truly yours." Jazz whispered back, shivering at the tone of his mate's voice. "Love you. Whatever you need, whatever you _want_ , I am yours."

"I want you happy, with me," Prowl's mouth found Jazz's neck, his lips working along the thick cables and tubing. His hands found Jazz's hips, then one slid in to stroke the valve cover. "I want to cry out in pleasure because of you."

The cover slipped away from Prowl's fingers, exposing a heated, lubricant slick valve as Jazz tilted his helm, giving his lover more access to his neck allowing him to reach the thick chevron that adorned his lover's helm.

"Always happy with you." He purred, glossa sliding along the chevron. "Love your spike, your pleasure, your voice, _everything_ about you."

Prowl hummed in reply, a happy sound as his fingers pressed into Jazz's valve. No matter how desperate he was, he'd never forgotten to check. It was simply part of the process for him, and Jazz found it endearing.

All thought vanished from Jazz's processor when the only spike he wanted inside him slammed in with a resounding clash of metal as their interface arrays met at the end of Prowl's thrust. He keened at the sudden stretch, field flaring with bliss to wrap around Prowl as he held his mate tight. He loved this, loved the occasional almost violence that his mate indulged in. To Prowl was given something that Jazz had never offered to anyone else. True surrender.

Prowl took it, relished it and appreciated it for what it was. He was still dumbfounded that he had somehow earned this, but he refused to allow his confusion to degrade the precious offering. Jazz loved him. It didn't truly matter how or why.

A hard thrust and the clang of metal brought to Prowl's mind why he was being so rough and his vents stuttered for a moment. He forced his processors to shut further down, reducing his awareness to the motions of their frames and the pleasure building in his spike as it slid out and thrust in, taking his mate harder than he had in vorns.

"Yes. Please. Mine. Love you." Jazz moaned and pleaded with every thrust, hands sliding along his mate's frame, teasing at wings and then simply gripping his lover's frame to hold himself steady.

He loved Prowl. Was willing to give him anything he needed, anything he wanted, because Jazz needed the other mech. Prowl was his rock, his anchor. The thing that kept him focused and coming back and living. Ideals meant little to Jazz, but a tangible reminder of why he was doing what he did, why he was fighting this war, was everything.

"Yours," Prowl moaned, shivering as his charge rose with each thrust deep into the gripping, slick tightness of his mate. "Always yours. Anything that makes you happy is yours." Neither of them cared that it was a lie, only that it was honestly meant.

" _More_." Jazz keened, for himself and his lover, begging Prowl to let go and simply taking, valve rippling and squeezing around the wonderful spike, not wanting to let go as Prowl pulled away but moaning in pleasure every time he thrust back in.

"Yes," the hissing moan came in reply. Their chassis rubbed together as the thrusting took up more and more of Prowl's frame, claiming his awareness with it until the universe dissolved into a brilliant flash of absolute ecstasy that held for an eternity, washing away the pain, the plans, the hate and lust in a single moment of purity that Prowl reveled in as much as it terrified him.

The sensation was only heightened by his mate's surrender and release, Jazz's own pleasure sweeping through deeply twined fields and into his mate. This was one of the few places he could let go like this, his trust in Prowl deeper than his own spark deep need to be safe and secure and alert at all times.

Neither were completely sure how they ended up on the berth in a tangle of limbs and kissing, Prowl's desperation no less intense for the overload. Jazz found himself on top, with Prowl's legs spread.

"Please," Prowl's request did nothing to hide how close to panic he was, or the torrent of other emotions cascading through his system. He was revved up more on fear than arousal, but there was no denying the honesty of the request.

"Always. For you. With you." Jazz moaned as his spike released and pressurized in moments, driven by the desire and heat still coursing through his frame. Gentle fingers returned the care given to him earlier, sliding along and dipping into the tempting offered valve. It was slick and tried to close around the teasing fingers. The lining smooth and well-lubricated, fully healed from whatever stretch had created the pain in Prowl's memory.

A soft moan escaped Prowl. His optics were bright, locked on Jazz. His field was much the same. He wanted, but he needed to be sure of who it was.

"It's me love. My love." Jazz whispered and, kissing Prowl tenderly before focusing on his mate's brilliant optics and sinking slowly into his mate's valve, savoring the stretch and slide and pleasure. "I love you. I've wanted you since the first time I laid optics on you, so regal and cool."

He felt Prowl's surprise, but he also felt the low moan and easing of tension as the familiar feel of Jazz's spike, the only one Prowl had ever known until he was taken, slid in and filled him with the perfect stretch.

"I took longer to warm up to you," Prowl admitted, allowing himself to accept that this was going to be okay. It might take time, but nothing had been physically damaged. It was just his mind, and his mind he could deal with as long as Jazz remained willing to deal with his unpredictable mood swings.

"I know love. I remember stalking you, and trying to out-plan the master planner." Jazz reminded him with a smile as he started to move slowly, withdrawing his spike and gliding in slowly, drawing out the pleasure for them both and giving Prowl time to assess, accept and set into memory. "And now every day I spend with you I am rewarded."

Prowl moaned softly in pleasure, his frame remembering this well even if his processors were having a harder time of it. "You had an advantage there. It's difficult to plan when you don't know the goal. I thought you were trying to be a friend, when I finally accepted you weren't trying to hurt me."

"I was trying to be your friend." Jazz whispered, leaning in for a kiss. "And so much more."

Prowl smiled and moaned softly as he reached up to caress Jazz's frame as his hips began to respond and roll into the steady thrusts. "I'd glad you did. Glad you persisted. Glad you want me."

"I will never stop wanting you." Jazz promised, not changing the steady pace but shifting his frame, savoring his mate's touches and angling to hit deeper sensor nodes in his love's valve. It had taken time to discover exactly what worked for his mate, what drew the sweetest sounds of pleasure from Prowl, but every effort had been worth it and was paying off now.

And Jazz had to admit as he smiled to himself and claimed another kiss, it had been a fun trip. One that he was reasonably confident that Prowl had found just as fun. He had a flash of what Prowl would be going through right now if Jazz hadn't made the effort, and shuddered before pushing the grim thought to the back of his processors. It didn't matter. He was here and he was not going to leave Prowl over the mech being raped by comrades or becoming a creator without warning. Instead he focused on teasing the sounds of pleasure that he found so fascinating from his love, surrounding Prowl in as much love and pleasure as he could offer.

Slowly, sweetly, Prowl's optics powered down and his frame relaxed even as his hips rolled more eagerly into their coupling. His vents pumped out hot air as his mouth fell open, a visible mark of how close he was to drowning in pleasure.

"I love you. You are mine. Mine alone." Jazz whispered into his lover's audio as he finally gave in to his own desires as well, thrusting harder and faster with each roll of his hips, wanting to feel that moment when he finally drove his lover over the edge before following Prowl into shared bliss.

"Yes," Prowl trembled as the pleasure mounted. Tremors shook Prowl's frame as energy began to dance between them until the Praxian keened, his grip on Jazz's shoulders tightened with his loss of physical control to the processor-blowing surges of energy-driven ecstasy that torn through him from his valve outward.

Jazz managed to hold off his own overload for just a moment, long enough to watch his lover lose control and revel in the fact that _he_ was the one that had caused so much pleasure before his own overtook him.

Hot surges of transfluid spilled from his spike to fill his lover, a matching keen escaping Jazz in a rush as he held Prowl close and they both shook with their shared pleasure and what it meant to them.

Slow, gently, they came down and relaxed. Prowl lax on his back, the tension completely drained from him as he nuzzled Jazz in wordless affection.

Jazz purred in response, gathering himself just enough to shift his frame and not put pressure on his lover's wings as he snuggled against Prowl. It was moments like this that he wished could last forever sometimes, small islands of peace and perfection in the middle of war torn functioning. He could teek that Prowl felt the same. The contentment and lack of need to _do_ in Prowl's field was its own kind of bliss for Jazz, it was solid proof that he didn't just bring physical pleasure, but emotional pleasure as well. For Prowl to be content to simply lay there was nothing short of a miracle.

"We'll make this work, somehow," Prowl murmured as he tucked his face against Jazz's shoulder.

"Of course we will, my love." Jazz said, holding Prowl close and nuzzling the other mech's helm in affection. "I am here. To hold you. To please and pleasure you. To listen when you are ready to talk."

"Ready? Never," Prowl muttered, holding his lover tightly. "I'm never going to be ready to talk. I'm going to have to though, and soon." He turned his optics off. "The memory edit failed in therapy," he whispered, bitter and angry that Ratchet had pushed him with questions that had made his tac-net realize the edit had been made and 'correct' it.

"Tell me what you want me to do." Jazz instructed, hands stroking his love's frame as he kissed Prowl's helm.

A growl escaped Prowl's engine even as he pressed needily intro the contact. "A few things that simply can't be done. To me and them, and especially to this thing that they put inside me. I never wanted to be a creator. I knew very quickly after I was sparked that I lacked most of the qualities needed to produce a good citizen. I'm not that much more qualified now."

"What qualities are you so lacking in love?" Jazz asked softly, needing to understand how Prowl viewed himself before he could tackle the problems laid before him.

The Praxian sighed and tried to relax in the warmth and comfort of his lover's embrace. "Patience with incompetence and unteachability. Tolerance with having something so dependent on me. Letting go, in stages or at all." He stilled and muttered something too quietly for even Jazz to hear, but it carried the harmonics of a curse. "The simple desire to be a creator. I Do Not Want It," he bit out with a flare of helpless, frustrated anger.

"I think you underestimate your own abilities, my love. You have risen to meet every challenge your functioning has thrown at you and not just overcome, but flourished." Jazz praised, his confidence in Prowl echoed in every motion of his hands on his lover's frame and the field encircling Prowl.

"You do not want this. You did not ask for it." Jazz said, acknowledging that truth, and the fact that nothing was going to change it. "But it is a challenge put before us, and as you said, we will make it through."

The fact that Red Alert and Inferno may not make it through, at least not gracefully or fully intact, was a fact that Jazz kept to himself for a moment, even as he contemplated the merits of trophy wall art and the effects it might have on his mate's morale.

"Have you thought about being a creator, before all this happened?" Prowl asked, his tone serious. The very lack of disagreement with Jazz's statements was a victory for the visored mech, however. It meant that Prowl agreed with him. At least on the theoretical level.

"I had not." Jazz admitted, relaxing a little as Prowl seemed to calm once more and snuggled against his lover. "My focus when I originally joined the Autobots was surviving the war. Then I got a little sidetracked." He added with a smile for Prowl.

"We both did," he leaned in for a soft kiss. "It has improved both our odds of survival, and thus improved the odds of the Autobots surviving. As long as it seems on this world, eight metacycles really isn't that long. We don't have to raise it."

"No, we do not have to." Jazz agreed. "Who would you trust with the task then?"

"They made it, it's fair they raise it," Prowl shrugged slightly. "They'll have to have a major part once it's a mechling, explaining what it is."

"And you think they would be better creators than you and I?" Jazz prodded, curious about the answer more than any real desire to raise the thing that was currently causing his mate so much distress.

"They wanted it," Prowl grumbled. "They can claim coding all they want, I don't believe it. It might be what got them to act, but it didn't force them. They had other options." He huffed and sank down, irritated by his own emotion-driven choices and how little they really made sense to his tac-net. "It's _theirs_. Bad enough it's going to take so much from me for a vorn, but why should we raise it and give up three hundred vorns too?"

"Easy love." Jazz soothed, not arguing with his mate's points, but wondering how much if it was going to change as time went on, and what direction the changes might swing.

Prowl sank down lower. "I shouldn't have said I'd consented."

That sudden swing was enough to distress Jazz, focusing his attention in completely on Prowl once more. "Why the change, love?"

"Enough time to process it beyond the implications to the war," he grumbled. "I'm sure you can work out even better than I can the results of it becoming common knowledge what actually happened."

Jazz nodded, so many ramifications from so many angles assaulting him at once it was enough to make his processor stutter.

The fact that Prowl had been raped.  
The fact that there was a way to expand their race.  
Who was responsible for the attack.  
The fact that creatures that most mecha regarded as legends of sparkling horror tales were real.  
The social and political implications.

And those were just the visible tip of the proverbial iceberg. Who knew what else was going to come to surface as those were chipped away.

"What would you have said instead? Why?"

Prowl regarded him evenly. "The truth. What I counseled every victim I ever interviewed to tell. Protecting violators is never the right answer." He slumped as in sank in a little further just how far he'd come from the ideal he'd held for himself. An ideal he'd held true to for his entire career in the Praxian Enforcers, and even his early vorns as an Autobot. An ideal he still believed in, even though he understood it was not possible in war. "Yet I still came to the conclusion that it was the right answer to lie and protect them, and it probably is. My rights are worth far less than the potential survival of our kind."

"Only if you choose for them to be." Jazz murmured, nuzzling Prowl gently. "And never to me."

Prowl rested his helm against Jazz's chest and turned his optics off. "Thank you. For listening. I know I don't make much sense right now."

"It doesn't matter. It will come." Jazz promised. The important thing in the moment was that Prowl was talking and facing what had happened and what was happening, and was at least trying to process it all. And that he was accepting that fact that he was not going to have it to face it alone. That Jazz was going to be here with him, no matter what.

"How did you deal with this, when it wasn't a Con?" Prowl asked softly.

There was a moment of distress in Jazz's field as he considered that, and realized that this was an angle that he wasn't going to be able to entirely help his lover process. "I've never been taken, not like that, by someone I considered a friend."

He'd dealt with being double crossed, learned very early in his functioning how to wear a mask that hid his true feelings and emotions, how to read between the lines and to hear what was not being said through the words being spoken. But he had never faced a trial like that one placed before the mech he loved.

Prowl's lifted a hand to gently stroke along Jazz's bumper as his field reached out with apology and support. "I'm glad. I wish I could have protected you from the rest, but I'm glad at least that never happened. Whatever comes of this, we'll still have each other."

Jazz pulled Prowl close, deeply sorry that he had not been there to protect Prowl when his love had been so deeply violated, and dismissing his mate's apology but not the care it represented with a gentle kiss. Prowl returned it, welcoming the support even as he shifted uneasily.

"Do you think you could get a couple sedatives out of Ratchet, if he won't let me work?" Prowl said, uneasy with the idea of being drugged, but tired of fighting his core coding by staying put.

"If you're wanting them under the table, you might be better off talking to First Aid. Come up with a good reason, make it causal, and you might pull it off without Ratchet finding out, at least for a while." Jazz hummed thoughtfully as he stroked one of his lover's wings and smiled when it pressed into the touch. "How much has he restricted you so far?"

"Berthrest," Prowl rumbled in frustration despite the hum of pleasure. "Completely off duty. He _said_ I could work to Prime, but my door's still locked. I don't really care if they're under the table. Ratchet knows how much my coding resents inactivity."

"We'll talk to First Aid. And maybe we can come up with some other ways to entertain your processor." Jazz promised, a mischievous edge rising in his field and lighting his visor. "Like figuring out a new position for us to try every day? Or surprises, I like surprises." Jazz teased.

Prowl managed a bit of a chuckle, an equally mischievous look in his optics. "Or a new place," he suggested with a low purr. "I _am_ allowed to walk about. And if a few reports get finished while we're out, no one's actually going to complain."

"I doubt it. And if it's just a lock love...make a list of things you want from your office, and I'll see what I can do. I doubt Ratchet is going to come search your quarters, unless he notices you being too productive." Jazz wanted his mate happy and content. And if providing a limited amount of work was what it took, Jazz was more than willing to comply. Especially since this way he could keep watchful optics on Prowl and make sure the Praxian wasn't over extending himself, code driven or not.

The way Prowl perked up at the prospect of having some work was both sparkbreaking and sparkwarming. It took Prowl less than ten nanokliks to have a list and ping it to Jazz, which included exactly where to find each report that needed to be downloaded and where to find the objects. Much to Jazz's relief, it was also a reasonable list for an afternoon's work.

"I'll get to work on that love." Jazz promised, leaning in for a kiss and smiling. "Right after I finish enjoying you."

Prowl purred and relaxed, willing to indulge his mate and not think for a while longer.


	6. Explaining Without Saying a Thing

Jazz forced himself to relax, his stride taking on the bouncy public spring that said everything was all right to those who viewed it, even if it wasn't the truth.

Everything was not all right. Better, but not right. Ratchet finally allowing Prowl back in his office was making the Praxian feel better, and his mate feeling better certainly improved Jazz's mood. And hopefully his mood would improve even more with some normal energon from the commons, even if he was drinking it in his office. Anything that approached normal was a comfort to Prowl at the moment, and this was one of things on the list.

Jazz scanned the room as he stepped in the door, automatically noting who was present and where they were stationed in the room as he headed straight for the energon dispenser.

"You Jazz explain to us Dinobots why no see him Prowl," Grimlock's distinctive speech and rumble dominated the room the moment the Dinobot spotted Jazz.

"He's busy." Jazz said, looking up at the Dinobot leader with open curiosity. "He's in his office. He's got a project in the works. I'm here to get him some energon."

"Him Prowl not been in his Prowl's office for a long time," Grimlock scowled. "Us Dinobots not stupid. We Dinobots know _something_ happened. You Jazz will tell us Dinobots."

Around the room more than a few optics were turned Jazz's way, openly wanting to hear too.

"Ratchet forced him to take some time off before he really started on this project. I've been helping him with it too." Jazz calmly. "You're not stupid. He hasn't been in his office much lately. He's back to locking himself in there now."

Grimlock scowled again, even if it was hard to tell with battle mask and visor if wasn't in his frame language. "Him Prowl not sick?"

"No, not sick." Jazz promised.

With that the big Dinobot stalked away, apparently satisfied. The same cannot be said of the other mecha in the room, most notably Jazz's own agents. Jazz simply nodded cheerfully to them and continued on his way to the energon dispenser, collected three cubes and left. He knew Mirage was following; not because the mech gave himself away, but because he knew his agents and knew what they'd do.

True to expectation, Mirage phased into view when they were alone in the corridor and away from curious audials, other than Red Alert's.

"How concerned should we be?" the noble asked, his inflections marking the 'we' clearly as himself and the other Ops agents.

"At the moment, you don't need to be." Jazz said after a nanoklik's consideration. "What's going on is important but small and local at the moment. And on a serious need to know basis. Believe it or not, if Prowl wasn't directly involved, I probably wouldn't know."

That raised a delicate optic ridge and brightened golden optics. "Understood. Know you are not alone, should you need anything."

Jazz answered with a quiet, serious nod and a sincere. "Thank you."

Mirage gave a silent, minute nod of acceptance and took the next corridor. It's not one that led where he was going, but it would get him there. It looked better than having him turn and walk back the way they came.

The door to Prowl's office slid open and the Praxian was right where he was before, exactly as he was when Jazz walked out. Yet as his hand moved to accept the cube being extended to him he looked up and smiled at Jazz with a flicker of thanks in his field.

Jazz leaned in, claiming a tender kiss before backing off and pulling a cube out for himself. "Grimlock was asking about you in the commons. Seems like everyone noticed when you were out of your office."

Doorwings flicked in surprise. "I made sure to keep up with the scheduling. Why did they notice?"

"Because it was out of the norm and they were bored? Things have been rather quiet lately." Jazz speculated. "I told them Ratchet strong-armed you into taking a break before you dove into a project. Current said project being why you have locked yourself back in your office once more."

"Not an inaccurate description of what is going on," Prowl chuckled. "Even if it tells them nothing. Who looked like I need to be careful around?"

"Grimlock, but he's never happy unless he's smashing something." Jazz said with a laugh, before settling to the more serious side. "My people noticed, but I spoke with Mirage. Nothing more will come of it from them unless I say otherwise. The twins looked suspicious, so it might be wise to keep an optic on them. The rest seemed willing enough to take my word that you were well and nothing was seriously wrong." He concluded.

"The twins are always suspicious," Prowl actually chuckled lightly, a very rare sound in his office. "We always keep several optics on them, though at least this time there is little they can find out to do much with," he added before going back to work, his field smoothing into the calm, light neutrality that Jazz had long ago learned meant spark-deep contentment at doing what he'd been created to do. Prowl, when he was most happy, was so very different from what most mecha teeked when happy, but he was just as clear about it once you learned.

Almost two joors later the second cube was obligingly gone and Prowl spoke without looking up. "I would like to spar tonight. It has been too long since my last session."

While Jazz wasn't so sure that Ratchet wouldn't have a fit at the suggestion, as long as his mate wished the session to be with him or someone that Jazz approved of he could find no reason to deny his mate. "I'll make sure one of the training rooms is booked for us." He promised.

"Good," Prowl graced him with a thankful smile and went back to work. It left Jazz with little to do but book the room, poke at doing reports in his helm, read, and most especially watch his mate for any sign of working too hard. It was a task that Jazz was willing to accept. As he often told Prowl, he never tired of simply _looking_ at the other mech, and this was an excuse to indulge himself to the fullest.


	7. It Can't Be Quiet Forever

"Autobots! Roll Out!" Optimus Prime bellowed as the bulk of the Ark's crew rushed for the entrance and the nearby battle. Why Megatron didn't select targets further away on a regular basis Prowl would never comprehend, but he chalked it up to the former gladiator's personality and need to go up against Prime at every opportunity.

There was a brief moment, lost in all of the chaos, where a black hand descended on Prowl's arm, stopping him in his tracks and turning him around to face his mate. "Be safe." Jazz murmured as he stole a kiss, a wish more than anything else. And he offered no promise in return, since there was no such thing as safety on a battlefield, before he released Prowl and vanished into the mass of frames.

They both knew that Prowl would do everything in his power to keep them all safe, and they both knew that every battle there were casualties. Though since reactivating on Earth there had been no deactivations. Prowl strode to the central point in the control room, the closest thing he had to a tactical center anymore, and settled in to perform his function.

The first step of which was to shut down his emotional protocols. It was something he did every battle. Those who saw it happen considered it creepy, and the first time Jazz had watched he'd declared he knew why Prowl was said to be a drone. He both relaxed and stiffened, every hint of chassis and field language stripped from him.

The next step terrified the few who knew what happened. He wiped from active memory all personal and social connections to these mecha. He had to view them as their strengths and weaknesses, their connections to each other, rather than any connections to him. His mate and lover simply became one more pawn for him to move on the field of play. Slightly harder to keep track of than some of the other pieces, but deadly and dangerous with Prowl to guide him and his own intuitive strengths.

Not that long ago Prowl would have been out there with them, shouting orders and laying down acid pellets as much as he used his comm. He was a soldier. No one lasted as long as he had in the war without being one. Not even their master tactician, or their Prime, a mecha that should have been a priest and politician, not a warrior.

None of that registered to Prowl as he began to send tactical databursts through Blaster. With Soundwave on the field, it was the only way.

The presence of the communications expert and telepath added another layer of complexity to what was already a chaotic mess. Prowl was tasked with figuring out what the Decepticons were after, how to stop them from getting it, and how to do so with the least amount of collateral damage and losses. Despite putting all his focus on it, the strain of trying to bring his tac-net up to full use left Prowl trembling enough for Blaster to notice.

Though the host wisely kept quiet about it, it was something that was going to be mentioned to Ratchet as soon as Blaster had a quiet moment after the battle. The host was neither young nor inexperienced, and besides a personal interest in the mate of one his friends, anything that strained the mecha that functioned to plan their very lives was something that was to be noted and addressed as soon as possible.

Also noted was the slightly more aggressive tactics, directions that included notes on frametype weaknesses that Blaster knew were intended to kill. It had been centuries since Prime had broken Prowl of encouraging the warriors to kill most efficiently.

The communications officer hesitated for a moment in passing those along, but finally repeated the messages in full, trusting that there was a reason for Prowl's actions and not willing to question them yet in the middle of a heated battle. In the end it was between Prime and Prowl and who was really going to run the war. Prime won the last known round. Maybe Prowl finally won again. Those kinds of directions hadn't been rare before Optimus settled into being Prime; back when there was no question that Prowl was the driving force behind Autobot tactics and battlefield goals.

The memory snippet was a reminder to Blaster about just how long Prowl had held his position of CTO. One did not outlast two Primes and the very long war under a third in such a high-ranked position without being very, very good.

More orders, the flow of the battle directed. Other than the strain on Prowl and the first actual deactivations on Earth, it seemed fairly normal to Blaster. Yet when it came to Prowl, fairly normal wasn't normal at all. Still, the more aggressive tactics also had the battle drawing to a close far faster than usual, the Decepticons apparently caught off-guard by the sudden precise aggression being directed their way. Blaster could hear the shock and mild panic in some of their transmissions. It had been a long time for them since they'd faced this Prowl's tactics.

Blaster also heard the unhappy rumble in Prime's voice that did not bode well for Prowl when the Prime returned. He had no doubt that Prowl heard it too, but the tactician didn't seem concerned by it.

Not that it was easy to tell what Prowl was thinking very often.

* * *

Jazz made his way through the Ark, the desire to find his mate and know that Prowl was safe for himself driving his weary frame to move. Scuffed and scraped, he was a sight, but with nothing wrong that couldn't be handled by his self repair. Prowl was not difficult to track down. He was in his office, right where he always was after a battle. At least the ones that didn't have him laid out in medbay, something that was thankfully rare.

"Jazz," Prowl actually looked up at his entrance, then stood to draw his mate close. "It is good to see you."

Jazz snuggled into his mate's embrace, relieved that Prowl was already back to himself, the mech that Jazz insisted on considering normal. With a soft vent he nuzzled Prowl for a kiss.

"Interesting battle strategy love." He murmured. "Prime is not pleased."

"Prime can go to the Pit. There will be another Prime after him," Prowl hissed, tension rippling through his frame along with very real protective anger and much, much older anger at being forced to abandon the strategy that was most likely to end the war the most quickly. "The war must end."

Jazz flinched, helm jerking up to focus on his mate's face as his field wrapped around Prowl, trying to sort through the intense emotional reaction that was so foreign in his mate. "The sooner the better love." He agreed.

"Then prepare your teams and update plans to eliminate the Decepticon officers," Prowl rumbled before kissing him firmly. "We will use every option, including your medics."

"Love...?" Jazz questioned, concern coloring his field and voice, deeply troubled. "You know Prime will never approve those plans. He's angry as it is over the last battle, and I know he wants to see you as soon as things are settled."

Prowl was first in Jazz's spark, his processor, his desire. He had done everything in his power to make sure that the Praxian knew that. And sometimes putting Prowl first meant tempering the practical side of his mate that was prone to running roughshod over politics when they got in the way of his planning.

"I no longer care...." Ice blue optics flared as comprehension settled, even if for only a moment. He lowered his helm to rest against Jazz's. "This thing is going to get me convicted of treason."

As fast as the knowledge had come, it was swept away by protocols with other priorities.

"Trust me." Jazz pleaded, nuzzling at his lover. "With everything. Your worries, concerns, plans. I will not let this destroy you, or us."

It was a promise that Jazz knew he might not be able to keep, but since he planned to deactivate trying, if that was what it took, he was willing to make it.

Prowl drew in a deep vent of air and let it out slowly with a nod. "We have the resources in place to wipe out the Decepticon command structure and gestalts. Megatron, Starscream, Thundercracker, Soundwave, Shockwave. Without them, the army will disintegrate as a cohesive fighting force. Without Hook, Motormaster and Vortex the gestalts are rendered ineffectual and the Decepticons will have lost the closest thing they have to a medic. The remainder of the army will be relatively easy pickings." He trembled and tried to catch his thoughts, the ones that didn't want to be caught. "Tac-net is down in efficiency. Priorities are unstable. Loyalty tree is being rewritten."

"Shhh, love." Jazz soothed, leading Prowl over to his chair and settling the mech in it before curling around Prowl to hold him close. It wasn't comfortable, but neither was his mate at the moment. Jazz listened as he quietly primed a comm line to Ratchet, ready in an instant to summon the medic. "I am here. Let it work. We'll fix it later, if we need to."

Prowl nodded, connected his tac-net to his vocalizer, and let it run without trying to edit. He trusted Jazz more than himself in this moment, and all his plans involved Jazz in one way or another.

* * *

Optimus sat in his chair in his office, staring at the wall even though the blank space was not what his optics were seeing. His processor was going over the battle once more, picking it apart, and matching it with the anger he felt at Prowl's disobedience. He had thought he had convinced the other mech to back off such aggressive tactics long ago. And to see them resurfacing now, with so few of their kind left, was troubling. There were going to be words when his second finally arrived.

A ping on his a comm, a simple message that Prowl was finally in a state to talk. Prime had listened to Jazz and let the mech see to his mate before he confronted Prowl. Optimus hoped the move would pay off as he pinged back acknowledgement and waited for the pair to appear. It didn't take long before the door pinged that they were there, then whooshed open at his command.

Jazz looked as deadly serious as he'd ever been; calm, collected and focused, while Prowl was his fully composed self.

"Prime," Prowl canted his doorwings in a greeting that was stiff and formal, nothing at all like the usually friendly movement.

Prime was angry, and clearly so was Prowl.

Jazz nodded to Optimus, the move a little less stiff than his mate's, as he guided Prowl to one of the chairs in the office and dragged another one close enough that he was practically leaning against Prowl once he was seated.

Optimus took the time they were arranging themselves to finish getting his own processor back in line and his anger under control. If there was one thing he had learned over the vorns working with Prowl, it was that an emotional outburst was the worst way to try and get anything out of the Praxian.

Finally he looked Prowl directly in the optics and went straight to business. "Why did you disregard my standing directions?"

"The war must end," Prowl said firmly, not flinching back from his Prime in the least. "I will no longer permit irrational, illogical orders to extend the war and cost more sparks than it must."

"So you will eliminate some in the meantime." Optimus rumbled, before regaining control. "Why now, when our numbers are even less than before, when you agreed with me?"

"Creator protocols have altered my priorities," Prowl said with what amounted to an audible shrug. "When I agreed to your directives my loyalty was to you. Not the future. Not winning the war. Not the survival of our kind. The safety of my sparkling is now of paramount priority. It is more important than you."

Optimus vented softly as he settled back in his chair and studied his second. His spark was torn. He wanted, needed, to preserve life. Preserve their kind. But in this he could see no way to have it both ways. As betrayed as he felt by Prowl's actions, he was rather sure if there was a way to win this war and not destroy any more sparks, the Praxian would have presented it already. Prowl was practical, not cruel.

"How long to end the war, and how many more sparks extinguished?" Optimus finally asked, his tone soft and weary.

"Based on the additional data Jazz provided me about our deep cover and other assets that are not normally part of my dataset, there is a 98.6% probability of victory by surrender of the Decepticon commander with four sparks and four processor wipes. This can be accomplished within a metacycle," he laid out the cost at its most fundamental level. "The probability that several more Decepticons will requite significant reprogramming or a complete wipe to integrate into a non-war-based society is 86.1893%."

Given their current numbers even those few seemed too high a cost, but Optimus forced himself to weigh it against continuing the war, about the numbers lost and the damage already done, and the more that would come the longer this dragged on.

He nodded slowly, then presented Prowl with a newer variable. "And the likelihood that any of those that are going to be eliminated are Zastario?"

"Motormaster has a confirmed origin from Vector Sigma. Red Alert has confirmed both Megatron and Vortex are normal. I have no data on Shockwave, however the probability is less than 0.000616% that he is Zastario based on his behavior according to Red Alert."

So there was no argument to be made there either. For a long time Optimus sat there, studying his second and his second's mate, the hope they now carried and the very real risk involved in going up against Prowl when the mech had stated flat out how his priorities now stood.

Finally he vented roughly. "I want all of your plans laid out in a format I can review. All of your targets, how you propose to run the forces here on Earth and Cybertron, all of it. Once I have looked them over, we will discuss how to proceed. If another battle should occur before then..." Here Optimus hesitated, but finally spoke. "If another battle should occur before then, you may implement all measures to win that do not sacrifice one of our own number in the process. Agreed?"

Prowl looked to Jazz. "These are your agents, their trust in you I would betray in detailing such plans where they could be discovered."

Optimus interrupted before Jazz had a chance to respond. "I do not wish to endanger any of our mecha. I am more concerned with the designations of the targets you intend to take out, and who will be running things after they are gone."

Jazz considered that as he looked at his mate. "I think we can work with that."

"Then agreed," Prowl inclined his helm to the Prime. "In the meantime I strongly recommend transferring Ultra Magnus here if it is possible to take over the position of Chief Tactical Officer."

That suggestion drew a start from both of the other mecha present in the room, Jazz actually settling much faster than the Prime. It was an insight into how deeply Prowl's coding had been affected that he would even consider bringing the other mech here.

While Prowl would admit that Ultra Magnus was good in his own right, the two had very different styles that often clashed, leading them to working better the farther they were from each other.

"Just as the CTO?" Optimus finally asked.

"Affirmative. He is better suited to handle the active battlefield than I am until my coding is no longer compromised," Prowl said simply. His doorwings twitched. "If the battle was any larger than it had been, or lasted much longer, I would not have been able to manage it," he admitted with extreme difficulty. "My tac-net is compromised to that extent. I anticipate a 37.934% probability that the drain on my systems will increase incrementally until the sparkling emerges. Each increase in its draw will decrease my efficiency proportionately. Within two decaorns I do not believe I could manage the battle we just experienced."

"Then getting him here is a priority." Optimus concluded, making a note to have that seen to as soon as the worst of the battle casualties were seen to. "Have you considered how we should explain his new position?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched again. He really, _really_ disliked the idea of having Ultra Magnus so close.

"With the truth," Prowl answered pragmatically. "It may be sooner than desirable, however it is better than any other excuse I can think of."

"Very well." Optimus agreed. "That is your decision to make. I was planning to have Ratchet actually present the information, in hopes that he can do so in a manner that will not cause panic. It might still be wise to have some trusted mecha keep an optic on Red Alert and Inferno though." 

The Prime's gaze shifted to Jazz, and the other nodded in agreement. He knew that he could trust his people to do as he instructed, even if they did not like what they were being told to do on a personal level. It was simply part of being Ops. You didn't last in the division if you couldn't shelve your morals for a mission and do what needed to be done.

"That is acceptable," Prowl agreed, fidgeting again. He dropped his optics. "Do I need to be present?"

"Not if you do not wish to be." Optimus said gently, aware of how much was already being asked of his second and experiencing a moment of sorrow as he watched Jazz move to comfort his mate, picking up on the unspoken promise of support and protection being offered once more. "I would have Ratchet withhold your designation, except that I think it would little good. There are too many smart mecha here on the Ark for someone to not put the pieces together. I will be there to make it clear that the standing bounties have been revoked and that citizen status has been extended to all Zastario."

Prowl inclined his helm. "Too many smart mecha, and far too few potential hosts. It would not take long for mecha to compare notes. Ultra Magus's arrival would be a giveaway it is myself. There is no other reason I would tolerate him stationed here, much less give up my CTO position to him, no matter how temporary." He gathered himself, another flick of his wings displaying how infuriated he was with his condition and all it had him doing. "I will prepare the transfer orders. What of his unit?"

"I will leave that to your discretion. They should be stationed where they will serve the most good." Optimus said, then added with a thoughtful hum. "Though from what I have heard, if he has managed to keep them under control it might be best that they be left under his command."

"There are certain mecha that should remain close to him," Prowl agreed. "The majority of his forces can and should remain on Cybertron. He is not the only skilled leader we have there. Merely the best battlefield tactician." Prowl paused again, another twitch. "It will not hurt to have two more heavy hitters on the battlefield."

Suddenly Prime realized what he was witnessing. Prowl's coding was complex and non-standard enough that his creator code was also dampening his natural reserve. Prowl was talking more, expressing more, because he couldn't stop himself. For the Praxian who was so proud of his ability to say only what he intended, and often nothing, it would be humiliating, which would only add to his stress and drop his resistance further.

No wonder he was so determined to hide.

He glanced at Jazz, and the subtle nod from the other mech confirmed his observations as Jazz just as subtly continued to soothe Prowl. It was something that Optimus made a note to mention to Ratchet, so the medic could be on the lookout for it. It was also reason to make sure that Prowl's schedule was altered to allow him as much alone time as possible, save for those he chose to invite close.

"It would not, and certainly give us more to work with here." Optimus agreed as his attention focused back on Prowl.

"Will that be all, Prime?" Prowl held his voice steady, even if he didn't do quite as well with his doorwings.

"Yes. And Prowl- thank you." Optimus said as the pair rose, knowing it was little to offer, but it was what he had in the moment. Acknowledgement of the sacrifices the other was making.

Both mechs nodded their acceptance, and Prowl's stance softened just a fraction. Just enough for Prime to see.

Then they were gone, likely not to be seen for some time unless there was a direct need.

* * *

Blaster checked the medbay queue and headed down when he saw it was empty. ::Ratchet. Got a klik?::

::Yes.:: The medic's voice was a little weary when he answered, but all professional. ::What is wrong with you?::

::Need to talk in person,:: he whistled the discordant harmonic for professionally distressing. ::Be right there.::

Ratchet stopped, optics cycling at the unusual distress in the normally cheerful and out-going mech. With a sigh he continued to put away his tools, all the while setting his private comm and the med bays public one to say it was closed and that he was not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

He was ready when Blaster arrived and motioned the host to his office. The grim expression the mech wore was as unusual as his statement over the comms. When they both sat down, Blaster leaned forward slightly.

"Look, I don't want to get the mech in trouble, but something's really off with Prowl," Blaster began. "During the battle ... I've never seen him so stressed, and I was there for some of the worst. Mech's a rock, you know that. It wasn't just his orders that were strange. He wasn't holding himself steady, like he was fighting himself. Soundwave, ya know. Only I _know_ it wasn't Sounders, 'cause I can feel him if he's that close."

Ratchet was very quiet as he looked at the host, digesting everything that he had been told and trying to decide how much he could disclose. Finally he sighed. "Prowl is under a lot of stress at the moment. I am aware of this fact, as is the Prime. For now, it needs to be kept _quiet_." Ratchet stressed. "The only reason I am telling you even that much is because you are with him so often in such settings."

Blaster took a moment to process that, and all that wasn't said but had been implied. "Okay. No problem-o. No one but you needs to know what I saw. You know." He smiled brightly as he stood, a much more normal look. "Glad it's not a surprise for ya."

"No, not a surprise." Ratchet responded as he rose as well. "Though you did the right thing by making sure I knew about it. Keep on optic on him if it happens again, and call me if you need to." He instructed as he walked Blaster to the door and lifted the lockdown.

"I will," he promised.

Almost immediately Ratchet was informed of a ping from Prime requesting a meeting.

With another sigh Ratchet opened a comm line. ::Are you coming here, or should I come there?::

::It would be less unusual if I came down, I believe,:: Prime decided. ::I have my rounds to do for the injured anyway.::

::I will see you in my office when your rounds are done then. Most of those who were injured and in need of repairs are conscious, thankfully.:: Ratchet responded.

::Thankfully,:: Prime agreed, closing the line.

Ratchet made a pass around the med bay himself, checking all of his patients before retiring to his office and pulling two cubes of high grade from his private stash. He had a feeling they were both going to need one before it was all said and done. It had already been a long day, and if the Prime's tone of voice was anything to go by it was just about to get longer. He wasn't at all surprised when it took Prime most of a joor to join him, and the grimness of the Prime's expression backed up the need for high grade.

"Have you spoken with Prowl since the battle?" Optimus asked with a deep sigh as he sat down, weary and grateful for the high grade.

"No. Been rather busy, as I think you saw." Ratchet said as he reached for his own cube, voice holding none of the sting of his words. "Though I did have a very disturbed Blaster down here as just before you. He was highly concerned about how Prowl was acting during that battle. What else should I know?"

"His creator protocols are apparently doing quite a bit of damage. He told me outright that his loyalty was no longer to me," Prime paused to take a long drink, something he clearly needed. "That coming from a mech who's put personal loyalty over his function for longer than I care to think about. He'd have walked out on us if I hadn't given some concessions, I'm sure of it. Quite possibly far worse."

"Define worse." Ratchet agreed, once he got over the shock of that. "And did he happen so say what his goals were now?"

"Remove the threat," Optimus murmured. "I have little doubt he's capable of deactivating me or anyone else he is convinced is a threat to the sparkling. That part is normal. Where Prowl takes it is so much beyond what the code is intended to do...." he shook his head and vented harshly. "He's linked the protection of his creation to ending the war before it emerges."

Ratchet hummed softly as he considered that, optics focused on his Prime. "A perfectly logical step for Prowl, and he may not be that far from right. I shudder to think what Megatron might do if he were to gain the knowledge that there is a way to expand our race without Vector Sigma any more. The one saving grace might be the fact that he would lack the patience for this plan to potentially work."

Another sip of high grade another question. "So you are allowing him to go through with the plan to end the war?" Ratchet was aware of the personal battles that Optimus fought on a regular basis. The needs of the Matrix against his own desires and nature that almost seemed to clash with the ancient relic at times and did clash with his offices until they had stopped pushing. Prowl had been the first to object to Optimus' path when he was a new Prime, and Prowl had been the last to finally concede to obeying the new Prime's directives.

"What disturbs me is how little he seems to believe in me now that his core code does not demand loyalty," Optimus stared into the half-finished cube. "The last battle showed it, as did the plan I heard about. He intends to end the war by any means necessary, with or without my consent." He looked up at his old friend, one of the few mecha left that knew him before he was Prime. "Yes, I'm allowing him to go ahead," he sighed. "I insisted on detailed plans of how it will end and how things will function afterwards before a move is made. I insisted on reviewing them. I'm hoping it will buy enough time for him to settle a bit more, or at least for Jazz to keep him from any grand plans. I've condemned four sparks to the Well today, and more to being wiped clean."

"It would be unwise to openly question Jazz's loyalty, given how devoted he is to Prowl and how upset he is over the whole situation, but could you get a read on loyalty to you while they were there?" Ratchet asked.

"His devotion to Prowl is intense," Optimus said the first thing that he picked up, and what showed most strongly. "From what hints I got, I'd say he at least believes in doing as little collateral damage as possible. While it wasn't said outright, I know he tempered Prowl's plans to something I could accept. He didn't have to. I doubt it was easy either. Prowl is intensely stubborn when he set himself a goal. Jazz is, without question, the best thing for Prowl right now. At least as far as keeping him on the Autobot path and away from doing things he'll regret when his coding returns to normal. Jazz is a good Autobot. He does horrible things for us, things they both shield me from knowing, but he is a good Autobot."

There was nothing there for Ratchet to disagree with, and he nodded in agreement. Both mecha were good Autobots. The coding that was driving Prowl to act abnormally was not of his doing or desire, and it was hard to hold the Praxian responsible for his actions.

"They are valuable assets I doubt we can afford to lose." He agreed. "I will keep an optic on him. We are going to have to do something about his workload though. The stress of directing a real time battle seems to be a trigger for making the code flare."

"That is the other thing I needed to speak with you about," Optimus was actually more uneasy about this than the potential treason of before. "Prowl requested that Ultra Magnus be brought to Earth and made temporary CTO. It would remove all responsibility for real time tactics from Prowl's shoulders, but still leave him enough to keep him sane." He shuddered slightly in memory of the one time he'd truly lost his temper with his strong-willed SIC and locked him in the brig with nothing to do and no access to anything. "He needs to work."

This time it was Ratchet's turn to stare in slack jawed shock. And there was not much in the older mech's functioning that could pull that expression from him anymore. "He wants Magnus to come here?"

"Yes," Optimus nodded grimly. "Not just to come, but to become Chief Tactical Officer. I must admit I'm grateful he suggested it. I'm not sure I'd want to try and broach that subject given his current state."

"As hard of a time as I am having processing that request, it is good to know that the protocols haven't robbed him of all reason." Ratchet sighed, still having to work through that. "It's good and bad, since having the two of them together can be an explosion in the making, no matter how careful we are."

"Agreed," Optimus sighed. "We're going to have to be ready to physically pull them apart. Prowl's all but lost control of his processor-to-vocalizer link, and he's a great deal more emotional. Which in this context means he's a great deal more violent."

Ratchet downed a large gulp of the high grade, then hummed as his processor started to spin once more. "Maybe we can distract Prowl some. It is purely theoretical for the moment, but you could ask him to start redesigning Cybertron. Giving priorities to projects, cities, governing structures. Get Jazz involved too. Prowl may not rate investment in anything artistic or symbolic as highly important, but morale is just as vital a component as anything else."

Optimus nodded. "It might also distract him from the war by focusing him on the future." A sly smile crossed his lips plates. "And if one of the directions is to design the apartment for himself, Jazz and the sparkling, with Jazz's help, it might just have enough emotional investment to keep his full focus." He paused again. "How are Prowl and Red Alert getting along?"

"Avoiding each other as much as possible." Ratchet said. "I don't think they have seen or really spoken to each other since the meeting in your office."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Optimus sighed, swirling the remains of his energon in the cube. "I had the impression that Prowl considered Red Alert a friend. It is not a status he gives lightly. But back to the immediate future. The announcement that Prowl is carrying will have to be made soon to explain Ultra Magnus' transfer and promotion. Prowl, at least as of this morning, expressed a distinct desire not to be there."

"Understandable. And not one I that I am inclined to argue against. He is a very private mech anyway, rather behind then scenes than out in front. Being put on display like that is just one more stress he doesn't need." Ratchet said.

"I'm inclined to have Inferno stand with us but leave Red Alert in his office for the same reason," Optimus said. "As much as I wish to punish him for what Prowl refuses to admit to me, I do not wish to make such a delicate situation worse." He looked up and met Ratchet's optics. "Without crossing the confidentially line, how is Prowl progressing?"

"He's...progressing." Ratchet concluded. "Physically, his frame is handling the changes just fine, allocating resources as needed and starting to prepare him for later. I'm already reading deposits of stores for constructing the equipment needed to sustain and construct the sparkling protoform. Mentally," he moved on, "it is a very good thing that he has Jazz. He is still caught between a lot of opposing factors, and is mostly putting up a good front in public. He needs time."

"I intend to do my best to give him the time, and everything else he needs," Optimus said seriously. "Keep me appraised of what I can do to help. When will you be ready to make the announcement?"

"Of course. And give me an orn to simplify the information so that most can understand what is going on, and how to go about presenting it." Ratchet said, optics settling on the empty cube in Optimus's hand. "More?" He offered.

"Yes, please," the Prime said gratefully and accepted the fresh cube of Ratchet's special brew. "I'd like to time the announcement for Ultra Magnus's arrival, though it may need to be sooner depending on the rumor mill. I wouldn't be surprised if Prowl already has the transfer orders made up. Have you crossed paths with Hot Rod or Drift before? I know you've met Springer."

"Hot Rod, yes. Impulsive mechling. Much like Springer but with none of the mass. Drift I know by reputation." Ratchet answered as he settled with his own second cube.

"They'll be joining us as well, I expect," Optimus warned him. "Most of Ultra Magnus's crew will remain on Cybertron, but not the most difficult ones to control."

"I'll start stockpiling parts." Ratchet grumbled.

"They can't be any worse than Cliffjumper and the twins," Optimus chuckled. "Prowl did say one thing I can't counter. It will be very nice to have a couple more heavy hitters on the field. Ultra Magnus and Springer are both big enough to take on the heavier Decepticons that normally I have to handle."

"No worse, but now I will have twice as many of them." Ratchet sighed. "And another good point, and another good sign for us. That is normal Prowl."

"Very much," Optimus nodded and sipped on his second cube. "It's a relief to see so much of normal Prowl showing through the code-induced issues, and honestly it's nice to see Jazz acting that domestic. I wasn't sure of the match when Jazz began."

Ratchet smiled. "Jazz pursing him didn't surprise me. Prowl was a challenge, and Jazz has always enjoyed a challenge. But not even I knew how serious he was about Prowl, or how devoted he would become. It's a nice bit of stability for everyone in the chaos of this war."

"That," Prime lifted his cube in a small salute, "is something to celebrate."


	8. Anniversary Gifts

Jazz turned slowly, looking around the room. It wasn't much, the officer quarters that he shared with Prowl. Really meant for one mech, the pair had little in the way of personal belongings even after so long to clutter the space. One corner was occupied by the workstation Prowl kept, with the couch Jazz insisted on pushing up next to so he could relax by his mate when Prowl worked late. The close proximity after so long was enough to both, soothing and comforting.

A vid screen and a sound system occupied another corner, luxuries that Jazz had managed to acquire since waking here on Earth, and that Prowl had not objected to. Jazz had caught his mate indulging in playing music more than once, even occasionally tuning the vid screen to television stations to see what sort of stupidity the humans were getting into. Sometimes the human news even gave them clues to what the Decepticons were up to, another good reason to track it.

The real treasure of the room was the double berth, salvaged from their original and now crushed quarters. It was padded to accommodate Prowl's wings and frame, and something that Jazz had very quickly gotten spoiled with.

All of it was set up as best as Jazz could for them to celebrate a quiet evening together. High grade was laid out next to their regular energon. A mix of music from their homeworld and this new world was set up to play. High quality polish that he had bartered from Mirage and Sunstreaker was next to the berth, along with the soft applicators that melted his mate into a relaxed mecha every time Jazz pampered him on their anniversary. It was a tradition that Jazz had never missed since they had gotten together, and one that he wasn't about to alter now in this time of stress.

Now, more than any time before, it was needed. A reminder than _normal_ wasn't that far away and Jazz was going to help him get there. Between fighting his new coding and what that coding was doing to him, Prowl was desperate for any and every bit of _normal_ he could latch onto. He might not act desperate in a way most could see, but the mecha that knew him well knew what they were looking at and hearing.

Prowl was rarely more than a couple thoughts away from a breakdown, be it violent or sobbing, and the mech _hated_ it with a passion few knew he could muster.

The door slid open right on time, Prowl being well aware of the plans for tonight and having it on his schedule that nothing short of a Decepticon assault was to disturb him. His comm was off. His work left in the office. Tonight he was Jazz's in a way neither could afford to indulge in as often as they wished.

"Prowl." Jazz purred, crossing the dimly lit room to draw his mate close in a warm embrace and even warmer kiss that was returned in full and without a trace of hesitation or distress. "Love."

"Jazz," Prowl whispered, trembling faintly with how _wanted_ this embrace and attention was. "Yes, my love," he murmured, leaning in for another kiss that spoke volumes of his loosening self control, but also that he wasn't fighting it in this moment at all.

"Mine." Jazz purred, nuzzling Prowl affectionately when the kiss ended before taking his lover's hand and leading him over to the energon laid out. Without any delay he handed Prowl the cube of regular. "For you."

Words repeated endlessly with the same gesture during their initial courting, and every time he said them Jazz could still see in his processor the shifting of Prowl's reaction over time. From mere acceptance to confusion to finally amusement and the actual affection Jazz had been seeking. It had taken time, but it had worked far better than the flashier or more emotional displays most wanted to be courted with. For Prowl, successful courting meant smoothly integrating oneself into Prowl's routine without disrupting it. If you watched closely, those that were welcomed would find Prowl gradually altering his schedule or habits to accommodate their presence.

It was the longest and most worthwhile mission of Jazz's existence.

Prowl sipped it, watching as Jazz picked up his own cube. While the physical contact had ended, their field remained tightly entwined, providing a much stronger level of intimacy. Across it Jazz felt his mate beginning to relax and look forward to their evening. As fast as the mech could adapt to a crisis, getting him to leave work behind and relax was a process that Jazz had down and used as often as he could.

The energon went down smoothly, Jazz's field rubbing at his mate in gentle waves of affection and care. With the last drops gone Jazz reached out to pull Prowl into another tender kiss. "Shall we retire to the berth love, so I can see to that wonderful frame of yours?"

A faint shiver of frame and field spoke of how much Prowl was looking forward to that even as he leaned forward for another kiss. "Even if you do rub half the polish off before anyone else sees it." He teased lightly, a mark of just how deeply in he allowed Jazz. Normally such inefficiency would annoy him. From Jazz, it was accepted and found amusing.

"I'll fix it in the morning before anyone else sees it, and all they will get to be is jealous." Jazz responded as he picked up both cubes of high grade and led the way to the berth where Prowl laid down on his front, compliant and relaxed, his doorwings spread with trust and welcome and eager anticipation thick in his field.

The high grade was quickly traded for a simple cleaning cloth, one that would lift the surface dirt and dust from Prowl's frame and allow the polish to work better.

Admiration and possessive longing filled Jazz as he took in the picture spread before him, slipping around on the berth to start with Prowl's helm and neck as he cued the music to start playing softly in the background.

"Am I allowed to thank Primus for sending you to me?" Jazz asked sweetly as he worked efficiently and soothingly along Prowl's frame. The back of the helm, neck, shoulder, and the first swipe over the regal doorwings that were the hallmark of the Praxian build along with their distinctive chevron.

"If you want," Prowl made a content sound, part pleasure and part relaxation for a mech that didn't relax often. "You earned everything you have though."

"I like to think that you stay with me because you want to, by now." Jazz murmured quietly as he continued to work along the doorwing, cloth finding each crevice and joint before moving on to the housing mount on Prowl's back. The happy wiggle the attached appendages gave made him smile.

"I definitely do," Prowl's voice had settled into a pleasant purr. "But never forget that you earned everything I give you. My trust, my frame, my desire, my love. You earned it all, and you remain worthy of it."

Jazz smiled, leaning down to trace his lips in a gentle kiss along the place he had just cleaned before continuing on his self appointed pleasure of caring for his mate. The way Prowl relaxed, moaned and especially teeked during the process was what made this a pleasure rather than a chore for Jazz. Prowl never expected this. Even when he stopped being surprised, he never took it for granted. Every time was as joyful as the first for them both, both expressing their appreciation, desire and enjoyment through their fields.

By the time Jazz had Prowl roll over the Praxian was barely more than a puddle of softly purring parts, completely relaxed and open to his mate.

The reaction drew the same soft laugh and gentle kiss from Jazz that it always did, his pleasure sweeping out to wash over Prowl as he drew back to pay special attention to the bold chevron.

"And after this," he breathed softly, voice eager and teasing. "I'll polish your frame until you shine, and then worship it for the gift it is, that you have given me."

Prowl shivered at the promise and the tone, but even more at the emotions he could feel across their mingled fields. The utter sincerity of his lover's words, the way doing this made Jazz feel, the enjoyment Jazz gained from doing this and the pleasure they both experienced afterwards. Ice blue optics flickered off somewhere around his front bumper, allowing Prowl to focus completely on the feel and teek of his lover.

His mate cleaned from helm to pede, Jazz slid across the berth to fetch a tin of polish. He settled on the kind from Mirage that would give his lover a beautiful satin finish and condition the armor plating. It was the kind of understated beauty that Prowl tended to appreciate in himself. Time passed as Jazz polished, taking gentle care and drawing three soft, moaning overloads from his mate as he worked doorwings, wheel wells and pedes. 

As much as Jazz enjoyed doing this every vorn and every other opportunity he could get, this time was at least as important a time as the first time Prowl had trusted Jazz enough for this. Others may see it as Jazz servicing Prowl, but they both knew it was entirely the other way around. Prowl had learned to enjoy the attention, occasionally even desiring it, but this was very much Jazz's kink. Jazz found entirely too much personal pleasure in caring for and pampering the mech he loved. It wasn't the kind of pleasure that resulted in an overload, but the kind that sustained him through the darkest moments of his missions, for Jazz knew the level of trust that was required for this, and he felt the pleasure and affection smooth out into gentle crest after crest that were his doing.

By the time Jazz was finished, Prowl was a polished lump of purring black and white pleasure without a hint of tension in him.

Thoroughly pleased with the result before him, Jazz sealed the polish and set it aside, adding the last applicator to the pile on the floor to be dealt with the next morning. For several kliks he simply knelt on the edge of the berth, admiration for the beauty of the mech with him filtering through his field on many levels for Prowl to feel.

Finally he moved, gathering his lover into his arms and holding him close. "Now how else can I please you tonight?"

Prowl's helm tipped up for a leisurely, relaxed kiss as he leaned back and pulled Jazz down on top of him. "Ride me," he murmured between kisses and slow touches. "I want to watch as you lose yourself in pleasure for me."

A delighted shiver ran the length of Jazz's frame at the request, the slow heat building in his frame from his lover's pleasure and touches as they drew a moan of agreement from him. His hands caught Prowl's helm and trapped his lover for a slow, sensual kiss that was submitted to and returned with complete abandon.

"Anything for you." Jazz purred as the kiss ended and he drew slowly upright, straddling his mate's waist. The tingles from Prowl's hands sliding up his thighs and teasing at seams drew another shivering moan from him. "Do you know how often I think of you?" He asked. "How often I catch myself wishing for your touch and your frame and your field when we are apart?"

"Likely as often as I do," Prowl's optics locked on his lover. His field was bright and eager as it danced across Jazz's.

One hand traced lightly over Prowl's chest as the other reached up to outline Jazz's own sensor horns on his helm. "The way you figured out just the right tone and touch to overload me with just these."

Prowl's vents hitched and he shivered under his mate as memories flooded his awareness of just those moments, especially the first time he'd done it. The way Jazz had trembled and cried out against him, the shock mixed with overload in his field. Only Prowl's strong desire to watch more kept his spike cover closed.

"Your lips on mine, so sweet." Jazz continued, fingers tracing from horn to his lips, drawing Prowl's attention unerringly with them.

"Your hands on my frame-" both of Jazz's hands rose, accenting everything he described on his own frame with far more detail than his words. "Just the right pressure on my armor, the touches that find every buried wire and sensor and drive me wild."

A soft click sounded the release of the cover, though it didn't slide open just yet. The temperature of Prowl's armor was on the rise in time with his internal temperature and the faint tremors his main was drawing out of him. He'd never understood the use of display as foreplay until the first time Jazz had danced for him in private. It was easily the most erotic thing Prowl had witnessed up to that point, and Jazz hadn't even directly touched any interface points.

That changed when Jazz's hands traced down his abdominal plating and onto Prowl, Jazz lifting himself farther down his lover's frame. "How much I love the way you taste." He whispered just over Prowl's spike cover. It slid open as Prowl watched, optics bright and locked on the vision of his mate over his spike housing, the very tip of his spike peeking out.

"What your voice and sight can do to me," Prowl whispered, his voice deep and rich with desire. "Never want to lose you."

"I am yours, my love." Jazz purred as his lips closed over the tip of Prowl's spike, glossa teasing.

A low, rolling moan was Prowl's response. His frame tensed and relaxed in the same aborted motion to press into the contact. He wanted more, but he wanted it to last, to watch and feel Jazz's enjoyment far more.

"Love how you feel inside of me." Continued, venting hot air over the spike tip teasing at him with each word. "Stretching and filling me so perfectly."

Prowl shuddered under him, his cables tightening as he struggled not to roll his hips into the touch. His field reached out to stroke Jazz with the pleasure he was feeling, how good it felt to be touched and caressed by Jazz. It was highlighted now by the knowledge that touch and interface did not always feel good. Academic knowledge made painfully real, but that Jazz managed to brush aside each time. Prowl kept expecting he would panic or lash out in a flashback at some random moment, but it hadn't happened.

"Want to feel you inside of me." Jazz almost pleaded, kissing the spike tip once more before lifting his frame and angling so that his lover could see everything.

With a soft click Jazz's valve cover slid back, releasing the scent of warm lubricant filling. "To feel you here." Jazz whispered, frame shivering as his fingers reached down to caress the sensor laden platelets and dip in, teasing his own valve.

Prowl moaned and lost his battle with keeping his spike from fully pressurizing. "I want to feel you around me, feel the way you quiver when it feels good, the little sounds and cries you make as your charge builds."

"Yes." Jazz moaned in agreement as lubricant slick fingers reached to trace along his lover's spike, visible shivers running along Jazz's frame at the memory of how it felt inside of him. 

"Only want you." Jazz whispered, kissing the tip of his lover's spike again before shifting upward. With another moan he settled slowly downward on the only spike he truly wanted any more, flares of bliss lighting his field as frame warmed and his armor loosened in response to pleasure of the slow stretch. Prowl's deep moan, optics briefly flickering off, rewarded Jazz's effort at self-control, as did the clench of fingers on the berth.

"Never want another to touch me," Prowl whispered back. "Never wanted anyone else. You make me feel so good."

You are my love. Mine." Jazz repeated as his valve cycled around the welcome spike. "Mine to hold and protect, to treasure and pleasure."

"Yes," Prowl shivered and rolled his hips up, pressing himself deeper into his mate while his hands explored his lover's legs and abdomen. "All yours. All of me."

Jazz purred, relishing the response from his mate, all of the emotion he felt for Prowl flooding his field for other the other to teek and know as truth. When he teeked it back just as strongly he moaned in a pleasure even more intense than his frame felt.

A brush of fingers across his spike cover made him gasp, and he didn't even try to stop the cover from sliding away and his spike from pressurizing, a blatant sign of the effect his mate had on him.

"I love every part of you," Prowl murmured, his fingers playing along the lovely deep blue spike with red, white and black markings. He traced each line and design with light fingertips. "Love to watch and feel your pleasure," he rolled his hips up again, hilting himself fully and grinding their arrays together. "You're so good to me, patient with me."

Jazz moaned, visor going dark as the pleasure fogged conscious thought for a moment. When he managed to gather himself again it was to focus on his lover's face, treasured features, and rock slowly between the wonderful sensations of his valve and spike.

"You are worth it. Always worth it. Mine like no one else. Always there." Jazz shivered again, glossa tracing his lips. "Never want to let you go."

"Never want you too," Prowl moaned as his thrusts became more forceful, the building pleasure driving him to intensify it.

"Yes." Pleasure and plea as Jazz moved with his mate, hands touching and teasing and occasionally bracing against Prowl's frame in moments of pleasure induced weakness. He gave no resistance when Prowl gripped his shoulders to pull him down into a fierce kiss, their glossa tangling and muddling their moans. Prowl's hands moved to his back, then to hold his aft as the Praxian's pleasure came close to its peak and reflex demanded he stabilize what he was thrusting into.

Desire and surrender flooded Jazz, and he keened into the kiss, asking for release. Prowl moaned into the surrender and drove into his mate, his hands holding Jazz tightly in place until the slide and slick heat drew a different tenor of moan from him and he flooded his mate with fluid as charged as their frames.

The second keen that escaped Jazz was far more intense as a dual overload roared through him, driven by his mate's charge and his own. It was a glorious bliss that he would trade for nothing else in the universe, the lover that held him tight and valued him for the mecha that he was in all, good and bad.

Prowl was still panting through vents and frame when Jazz came down, their fields content to simply mingle lightly while the mechs recovered. Prowl's hands unclenched, relaxing into an uncoordinated petting of Jazz's back.

"My love." Jazz mumbled, burying his face in Prowl's neck, nuzzling at the other as small shudders continued to run through them.

"Always," Prowl managed to reply as his systems unscrambled themselves from the overload.

"And I am yours." Jazz whispered softly as they both began to settle. "My love, my frame. Spike. Valve."

He shifted enough to move off of Prowl's spike, shivering at the sensations from his still sensitized valve. Settled once more his hand moved to run along Prowl's chest. "Even my spark, whenever you will accept it." He added softly, the soft click of his chest plates parting and the first flares of brilliant blue life shining through the cracks to remind Prowl that Jazz's very functioning was his to command.

Unlike the other times when Prowl had looked in awe but unable to respond in kind, or in recent vorns when he'd brought Jazz to overload touching the case and spark itself, the flash across their fields from Prowl was absolute terror and loathing vying for dominance. Ice blue optics went wide and white as he shoved Jazz away with all his strength, unable to recognize it was his lover above him as he scrambled halfway across the room and dropped into a defensive combat stance.

Jazz hit the wall with a harsh grunt of pain, his combat protocols engaging and locking his spark away, then tamped down just as quickly as Jazz reined them in. He forced his frame to drop into a submissive posture on the berth. Pain and hurt tore at his spark, the reaction from his mate cutting far deeper than any physical wound.

With doorwings flared and armor puffed out, optics so bright they probably couldn't really see, Prowl looked far more like Bluestreak when he was first found than the seasoned and well trained warrior Prowl was.

"I'm sorry. Sorry Prowl. I shouldn't have done that. Should have thought." Jazz looked up slowly, watching as Prowl's fans whined in fear, but the fear-tension was slowly bleeding from Prowl's stance. "Love...forgive me."

It was nearly a full klik of horrible sensations for them both before Prowl finally forced himself out of the defensive stance, and saw his lover for who was really on his berth. Then it was over as fast as it hit and Prowl was next to Jazz, drawing him close and trembling with his own apologizes that came more across their fields than his voice.

Jazz held him close, hand stroking softly over the shaking frame as he sought to soothe his mate. "Easy, love, easy. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Should have thought. Shouldn't have pushed."

He turned his helm, nuzzling at Prowl's helm and kissing him tenderly. "It is the truth though. Know that it is yours forever."

"I wish now I'd taken you up on it before," Prowl returned the kiss as his trembling eased some. "To have some experience to tell me it's not like that every time."

"Shhh love." Jazz soothed again, unwilling to tell Prowl that it wasn't since he didn't know what his love had experienced first hand. "I will wait forever, and celebrate the day you are able to give me yours. Just know that mine already belongs to you, whatever happens."

Prowl gave a small nod and finally calmed enough to still, his field smoothing out against Jazz's as he accepted the comfort and protection of his mate. He couldn't even be displeased with needing the support yet, though that would come and they both knew it.

* * *

"It's no use struggling."

The cold voice finished cutting through the recharge fogged processors, and both mecha stared at the intruder. Neither could hide the raw fear in their optics, and the smaller of the two started to shiver uncontrollably.

"How does it feel?" The voice continued, level and calm as its owner addressed the two bound mecha. "To be trapped in your own frames? You can't move unless I allow it. Can't call for help. Can't really fight. Maybe the only real difference is that you are going to see and remember everything I tell you and do to you very clearly for a very long time."

"Vorns. I spent _centuries_ winning his trust. His friendship. The right to pleasure him. To touch and to hold him. Every little gift he gave me I treasured. I can still see clearly the orn he first let me scrub his back in the wash. The first night he let me hold him- just _hold_ him. I was the first to touch him, to kiss him. His spike, his valve, he allowed me to be his first. The only one he has ever _given_ that pleasure to." The mech growled as he paced before them.

There was almost a full klik of silence, anger flaring from the pacing mech, accenting the flickering of an object flashing in his hands, reflecting the blazing light of angry optics.

"And all those vorns, from the nanoklik he accepted that I loved him, I've prayed to Primus for that last gift. For his spark. Willingly given, as I have offered mine so many times. Never giving up hope." Deep bitterness colored the next words. "And I still won't, even if I never see it.

"You took that from us, from me." He growled, turning suddenly and advancing on the trapped mecha until his face was inches from the larger one. "You both did. The chance to be his first in that, to show him the joy and wonder of _giving_ your spark to someone you love and trust."

The object rose into the bound mecha's line of vision as a cold bit of code, a chilling virus, started working through the systems and had both mecha struggling so hard they almost missed the next words. 

"I cannot take your sparks from you. But I will make sure that you think long and hard about what you have done to another. The trust you injured- how does it feel to have that repaid? Everything sacred that you have broken. Think about it. Remember it."

* * *

Jazz slipped back into the quarters he shared with Prowl and crossed immediately to the berth. His mate was still recharging peacefully where Jazz had left him, safe in the promise that Jazz would be there when he onlined.

Satisfied, Jazz took care of a small chore, placing the gift he had fetched so that his mate would notice it first thing in the morning. Then he climbed back on the berth, shifting Prowl gently so that the Praxian was arranged on his back. He soothed the brief flutter in his mate's field before reaching for the cleaning supplies and polish still by the berth. Not for one brief moment did Jazz forget just how deeply Prowl must still trust him to not rouse when he came in the room. To allow himself to be touched and moved with so little response. Prowl might not be Ops like jazz was, but Jazz still clearly remembered the early orns when any little shift would bring Prowl into emergency awareness where he checked every detail of the entire room, himself and Jazz with built-in scanners before settling down. It was so much like himself that Jazz had dug deep until he found the unabridged copy of Prowl's service record and confirmed that the mech had begun in SpecOps and only moved to Tactical much later when his upgrades were considered too valuable to be kept in the shadow world.

A joor and a half later and Jazz gathered Prowl into his arms and allowed his own systems to start powering down. When Prowl woke in the morning he would find himself clean, polished, in the arms of his mate, and -Jazz hoped- in a much better state of processor than he had dropped into the fitful recharge. There were moments there, often, where Jazz was grateful that for all that had been damaged, Prowl still trusted him enough to touch and to recharge with. That alone had been the work of vorns, and at least it had not been lost. Prowl settled smoothly and quickly in Jazz's arms and Jazz would never forget how wonderful that was, from the first time to just now.

Joors later Jazz roused when his mate did and luxuriated in the wonderful sensation of Prowl snuggling against him, affectionate and content with their proximity.

"You went out," Prowl murmured into a nuzzle. Despite the subject, there was no anger or upset at it. Merely a question phrased as a statement.

"I needed to take care of something." Jazz apologized, hands moving over Prowl's frame with gentle affection. "Sorry if I disturbed you. I tried not to."

"You didn't," Prowl murmured affectionately. "I can still smell the fear on you, and it's not yours."

"No, not mine." Jazz purred, nuzzling at Prowl's helm and gently turning the other mech so that he could see the wall facing the berth where two very distinctive spikes were now secured.

A flicker of shock hit Jazz first across their fields, then fear, then purring warmth as Prowl recognized not just what he was looking at, but who they had belonged to.

"I knew you'd do something," Prowl's tone was almost a chuckle as he turned his helm to kiss his mate. "Thank you for not getting in trouble for extinguishing them."

"It was very tempting." Jazz admitted as he kissed his mate back. "But there was no permanent physical damage done. Of their processors, I do not know. But I am sure they will consider the consequences of their actions for a long time."

Prowl lifted a hand to stroke along Jazz's side. His field squirmed, emotions flicking through it fast. Gradually he settled more fully. "That is a better punishment than deactivation," he purred with a truly vicious smile. "The physical damage will be repaired when they can convince Ratchet to do it. I do not anticipate that will be for a long time yet."

"Agreed, love." Jazz sighed, relieved that he had not upset Prowl with his actions and more than a little centered now himself, having personally punished those who had dared to hurt his mate. It was a suitable punishment too, directly mirroring what they had done.

"Love you," Prowl leaned in to kiss him softly. "Thank you for caring this much."

"You are my mate." Jazz answered. The words were simple, but the layers of emotion in his field spoke of feelings far deeper. Love, desire, possessive care, a desire to have, hold, and protect were just the surface for Prowl to teek. The response held so many of the same sensations that Jazz trembled for a moment at the utter gift that was Prowl's continued trust and feelings for him. It could have been so easily shattered by what happened.

With a moan of relief Jazz settled down, content to simply hold his mate for the moment and share the feelings they both felt, reminding them of the love and devotion they both felt. Its strength, and the bond between them.

It was strong, solid, and Jazz vowed silently that the only thing he intended to happen to it was for it to grow even stronger.


	9. Going Public

Optimus Prime looked out over the assembled mecha, and a part of him couldn't help but sorrow at how few of them there were. To the humans it surely would have looked like a huge gathering, with almost every Autobot present on earth currently in the room. But Optimus could personally recall a time when their numbers had been in the hundreds of millions, and the Matrix would sometimes whisper of a time even greater before then, before him, when there were as many Cybertronians functioning as Earth had humans now.

Still, the revelation to be made today, as uncomfortable as it was one so many levels, was hope. He just prayed that his fellow Cybertronians would see it for the hope it represented, and act for their future and the ghosts of fears from their past. He still did not know how many believed in the Zastario, or believed the stories about them. Stories that the current situation, if fully disclosed, would not help.

He wished they could have held off a little longer, waited until the sparkling that Prowl was carrying has separated, hopefully healthy and whole, so they could _show_ them the future. But with Ultra Magnus and the select members of his crew traveling with him scheduled to arrive later in the day, there was no delaying. Already rumors were flying, and Optimus would rather counter them with the truth now than allow to grow and take root and possibly choke out the truth later.

A stiff rumble of Optimus' powerful engines drew the optics and attention of all gathered, and the leader of the Autobots wasted little time in getting to the point.

"I know that there have been many rumors floating around, so I am just going to start addressing them. Yes, Ultra Magnus and part of his crew are arriving today. They are coming at my request." Nods and several well placed pokes passed among those assembled at his words, things actually calming a little.

Optimus knew that wouldn't last. "Ultra Magnus is come to step in as Chief Tactical Officer, per Prowl's request." That earned an entire room full of startled looks, dropped jaws and more than a few officers, who had been subjected to the corrosive mix that was Prowl and Ultra Magnus in close quarters for vorns before they'd been forcefully sent to opposite sides of the planet, twitched.

"Prime ... where is Prowl going?" a voice from somewhere in the crowd asked.

Prime belatedly identified it as Bluestreak, and he wasn't alone.

"He will be remaining here."

The crowd, at least all who had a clue what the two tacticians could be like when placed in the same room, shifted uneasily.

"But they hate each other," Sunstreaker said what most were thinking, more than a bit to the surprise of those nearby.

Optimus chose to ignore Sunstreaker's choice of adjective and focused on the problem being presented. "Both are aware of the current situation, and will do what is necessary."

"So what is the current situation?" Bluestreak brought things back on track.

"Many of you have noticed that Prowl has been more absent than normal around the Ark. That arrangement is going to continue for some time, though he is retaining his position as Second in Command. The reason for Prowl's absence is the fact that mecha most believed to be mere myth are very real, and Prowl is currently serving as a carrier for a sparkling."

The entire room went silent as processors attempted to grasp that. Even the thud of a small black form falling from a ceiling vent went unnoticed until the intruder alert roared at them. Near Optimus, Red Alert was in full form as he dove into the crowd, Inferno right behind him.

::It is merely Ravage,:: Prowl's voice came over the comms as Inferno stood with the twitching black form secured in one hand. ::Jazz will take him to the brig.::

"Prime ... did you say Prowl is carrying? Like he and Jazz are getting a sparkling?" Bluestreak found his voice first. "Only not getting, because it's inside Prowl, or something like that, right? How does that even work? We aren't organics. There's no space...."

"Bluestreak." Ratchet silenced him. "Who here has heard of the Zastario?"

"The monsters?" Someone called.

"Sparkling tales." Another scoffed.

"No and no," the medic brought all his fearsome reputation and force of personality to play, effectively silencing everyone. "They are mecha with extra coding and they are quite real." He settled himself to give the basic details that had been agreed on. "A bonded pair of Zastario can create a sparkling with a third mecha and that third will carry the sparkling for eight metacycles, building the protoform and sustaining the new spark until it emerges. After that point the sparkling is indistinguishable from a Vector Sigma sparkling."

"So there are Zastario here? Are we safe?"

"Do you trust Red Alert with our security?" Optimus Prime countered with the best mental trap he could.

"Of course." The mech replied, looking around at his comrades and receiving many nods of agreement. While the security director could be annoying and over-reactive, it was really with their best interest at spark, and every one knew that.

"Then we are safe," Optimus Prime smiled behind his mask, letting his voice carry the approval. "These two Zastario have been with the Autobot cause since shortly before I became Prime. They are not a threat to anyone." With that, he looked directly at the pair that had returned to their place near him.

Red Alert shifted, leaning into the safe warm arms of his mate. Together they faced the mecha they had spent vorns standing shoulder to shoulder with, fighting for what they believed in, protecting what they believed was right, and hoping that history would be enough.

Murmurs and uneasy looks were exchanged in the gathering and Inferno gripped his mate a little more tightly. He glanced towards Prime for reassurance.

"So ... how many sparklings will there be next vorn?" Bluestreak asked eagerly. "Will they have doorwings, or be a convoy class or racer, or how does that work?"

"I can't believe there's a major revelation and it wasn't on _anyone's_ radar," Smokescreen shook his helm.

"Only one sparkling, and it will likely be standard Praxian in appearance and size. The coding that helps form the sparkling models its frame type after the carrier's." Ratchet said, glancing at Red Alert and Inferno, who nodded in confirmation of his words.

"The Zastario have spent a great deal of time and effort, generations worth, staying under the 'radar'. And for good reason." Optimus said, using the opportunity to address another important point. "I have revoked the open bounty placed on them and their chosen carriers by Nova Prime. They now have the same rights and status as any Sigma sparked Cybertronian."

"Why would anyone place a bounty on those that create life?" First Aid twitched, looking between Prime, Ratchet and Inferno.

"Because Nova was glitched insane by the end," Ironhide huffed, his optics locked on Red Alert and Inferno and stance aggressive. "Did Prowl agree to this before or after you made him a nest?"

"Prowl agreed to help us when we came to him with our problem. He agreed to be our nest." Inferno answered calmly, nuzzling Red Alert gently.

"Problem?" Someone repeated.

"How is having a sparkling a problem?" Bumblebee asked. "Beyond the...." his voice dropped off as he realized the answer for himself. "You don't get to choose when you make a sparkling." He looked more to Ratchet, who nodded.

"It can probably work on a voluntary basis, but the creation coding is designed to activate when conditions are favorable," Ratchet said, knowing he was saying more than he really wanted to.

"So are the four of you together now?" Sideswipe asked cautiously.

"No." Inferno answered for his mate once again, both of them starting to relax now that they were not quite so worried about being deactivated where they stood. "Prowl and Jazz are happy with each other. So are Red and I. We agreed to leave things that way."

"So you can't make another sparkling soon?" Bluestreak was asking.

::If you make him a nest, there will not be enough left of you to find.:: Smokescreen hissed privately to the pair.

There was a brief start as both mecha glanced at Smokescreen, Red Alert shifting uneasily as he answered Bluestreak. "We cannot be certain when the coding will activate again, but it will likely not be for quite a while. Not until Prowl's creation is an adult."

"Oh," the gunner deflated. "I guess that makes sense, but it's really too bad given how much we need new mecha now that there's so few of us."

"Enough, Blue," Sideswipe patted the gunner's shoulder to get him to quiet. It was only then that several mechs realized that the small group that should have been asking questions weren't. The four of them were there all right, quietly in the background as they usually were at large meetings, but not one seemed inclined to say a word. They were staring though, all four with looks of extreme concentration.

"Who is coming with Ultra Magnus?" Mirage's soft lilt requested.

"Hot Rod, Drift and Springer," Optimus replied, watching another wave of unease ripple through his mechs. He didn't miss the flash of golden optics and tiny smile that Mirage quickly contained, and knew exactly what the spy was thinking.

_Finally, no longer the only outsider._

"Hopefully they will have a local day or two to settle in." Optimus said, looking around the room. "Are there any more questions?"

There was a general silence. Yes, there were many questions, but none that were ready to be addressed yet.

"Then you are dismissed to begin preparations for the arrival of our new CTO and the others," Optimus nodded and left, intent on taking over Comms so Prowl would not be there when Ultra Magnus called. As much as Optimus missed his long-time friend, he was not looking forward to the dynamic he created with Prowl.

* * *

Optimus Prime was glad to be on duty with Hound and Cliffjumper when Ultra Magnus made his final approach comm call.

"Welcome, old friend," he smiled behind his battle mask at the grim visage of a mech he'd known longer than they'd been in these frames. "It will be good to see you again."

"Agreed," Ultra Magnus replied gravely. "I am ready to begin reviewing the full situation as soon as we land."

"And I am sure that you will have it sorted out in no time." Optimus replied, still with the same good nature in his voice and very little of the stress that he was under. The open comm channel was not the place for such stress or frank talk. "The landing pad is ready for you outside the Ark. If any of your mechs wish to avoid the welcome party, warn them to stay on board for a couple extra breems."

"Understood." Ultra Magnus resisted the urge to look back at the small shuttle crew. Three others were coming with him, all because no one else seemed able to control them for long. One was too young and too spirited for anyone to control and Ultra Magus had him because no one else would put up with him, but the other two were fine soldiers that simply required a leader stronger and more stubborn than they were, two traits that Ultra Magnus had in ample quantity. "Touchdown in five kliks."

"I will see you then." Optimus nodded and closed the channel before getting to his pedes to head for the landing pad. Hound and Cliffjumper were more than capable of handling the comms for a while, and he could trust the pair to not attempt to kill each other in his absence.

He wasn't at all surprised to see most of the Ark's residents who could get away out to watch the landing. Prowl and Jazz's absence was notable but expected. Red Alert's absence was definitely expected. The Aerialbots were in the air to escort the shuttle down. The party that was planned, while not supposed to run long, was going to be lively, he was sure as he made his way through the assembled mecha. It was a needed distraction, the main reason it was being allowed.

As Optimus' optics focused on the shuttle he could only hope that they were making the right choices. One thing he could be sure of was that the next vorn was not going to be dull. It was never dull with Ultra Magnus and Prowl in the same unit. Prowl carrying, then raising a sparkling would have guaranteed not-dull too, all by itself, and it was still a weird thought. Prowl, a creator. As responsible as Prowl was, it was difficult to think of him in the context of being a creator.

The shuttle landed smoothly and Ultra Magnus exited. Another convoy class, he was noticeably larger than Optimus and built much the same, though he was predominantly blue and white.

"Welcome." He rumbled, hand coming to rest on Magnus's shoulder as his optics swept over the other three mecha. Hot Rod and Springer were taking in the welcoming committee gleefully, clearly delighted at being the center of attention for a while instead of the center of trouble. Drift's reaction was much more cautious, sharp blue optics on the lookout for danger even among allies. All things considered, it was purely survival tactics. The ex-Con had no end of enemies still among the Autobots who knew of his past.

"It is good to see you again," Ultra Magnus responded gravely. "Is it safe to let them loose while we talk?" Though the question was phrased as a general one for all his crew, his optics made it clear he was speaking about Drift and if any of Prime's crew was likely to pick a fight with him because of his past.

"He is an Autobot. He is welcome here." Optimus promised, addressing Drift and pitching his voice loud enough for the rest of the mecha present to catch it as well. If there was trouble now the punishment would be severe indeed, with them all having been warned.

A motion out of the corner of his optics revealed Mirage, and Optimus relaxed a bit. The spy would keep Drift out of trouble, he was sure. "If you would like to see to them, then join me so I can fill you in?"

Ultra Magnus nodded and accepted the datapads from Prime. "I should be done within the groon." He turned from his commander and motioned to his mechs. Hot Rod pouted from where he was laughing with Sideswipe, but complied after a hard glare. Springer moved easily through the crowd as one of the largest mechs there and Drift was still nearby, watching, judging those he'd soon fight next to and working out who knew who he'd been and who he'd need to be careful of. "Rules and regulations, maps, quarters, login," he handed each a datapad, keeping one for himself. "I expect everyone to know the quirks of this planet's regulatory structure before leaving the Ark, or local dawn, whichever comes first."

Drift simply nodded, while Springer gave a grunt and Hot Rod made a face.

"But Sideswipe was saying something about a party in our honor..." The younger mech whined, quite clearing wanting to devote all of his energy and processor power to the promised good time.

"You are free to go to the party as soon as I know you are aware of where your quarters are," Ultra Magus said firmly and walked off, confident the three would follow.


	10. Unspoken Rules

::RED ALERT:: Jazz roared over his comm, his rage burning hot as he glided through the halls of the Ark, fury radiating off of him and clearing the way before him.

::Yes?:: The security director's response was immediate, startled, and very afraid. Jazz had not spoken to him directly since he had asked him to track down his mate when Prowl had hidden from him.

::Ultra Magnus. Where is he?:: Jazz demanded, tone giving no room for argument.

::The tactical center,:: came the immediate response, Red Alert utterly relieved it was someone else about to face the TIC's wrath. As far as Red Alert was concerned, it was well deserved too. He'd seen it all, the confrontation in Prowl's office. They were new cameras, well hidden and installed only with the permission of the Prime at Ratchet's request. They all knew that he'd keep a very good watch over the unstable carrier and alert Ratchet should anything need attending to.

The situation had angered Red Alert as well, and if Prowl had not removed himself when he had Red Alert would have been calling Jazz and Ratchet to come rescue him and the sparkling he carried.

::Let me know if he moves.:: Jazz ordered, interrupting the security director's musing and changing his course, taking the most direct route to the tactical center. His mate's domain. Currently being invaded by an intruder who had committed a serious offense.

Jazz slipped into the room, advancing on the large mech without any apparent fear. "What do you think you are doing?" He growled aggressively.

The big convoy class mech looked down at him with a slightly confused expression on his normally stern features. "My function. Planning the best use of our forces."

"And pushing Prowl into a meltdown is 'best use of our forces'?" Jazz hissed, armor fluffed in a manner to make him appear as intimidating as possible. "Part of you being here is to try and _prevent_ that from happening."

"He was fine when he stalked out of his office to end the debate he was losing," Ultra Magnus huffed disdainfully. "No wonder you needed me here."

"He is working to end this war. A goal we have even more reason to achieve if we have any hope of survival. I know all of this was explained to you." Jazz countered.

Ultra Magnus glared at Jazz, not at all intimidated by a mech who knew more ways to hide bodies than most warriors knew how to kill. "What part of 'he was fine when he left' are you having difficulty with?"

Jazz vented abruptly, frame quivering in anger. "For someone who is supposed to be such a skilled commander, I would have thought you would have noticed when you had pushed a mech to their breaking point. You pushed him _past_ that point. And Primus help me, if you ever do that again the only thing that anyone will be able to find will be the trophy I take for my wall, friend of the Prime or not."

The visible rage had vanished, draining away as Jazz spoke, until all that was left was a cold field full of deadly promise that the speaker meant every word leaving his mouth.

"Prowl and I have never seen optic to optic, on anything," Ultra Magnus scowled. He very much believed the mech before him was capable of carrying out his threat, but the idea of the TIC threatening the CTO was almost enough to crash him. Instead he shoved it into a side thread to bring up with Prime soon.

"A fact I am well aware of." Jazz replied, still just as cool. He had made no effort to hide his courtship of the Praxian, and had actually taken a quiet pride in the fact that he had Prowl as _his_ mate, and that everyone knew it. "But the point of bringing you in was two-fold. To protect the Autobots, and to _help_ Prowl. _You_ accepted that mission. Think about that, the next time you are at odds with him."

"He stepped down from a tactical position," Ultra Magnus reminded him just as coolly. "He knows even better than I do how much he's slipping because of his condition and he called me in because he is no longer an adequate chief tactician. He should keep that in mind the next time he decides to argue my tactics. He called me in knowing I do not run a battlefield or war the way he does." He drew a deep vent in. "I will _try_ not to argue with him. You try to keep your mate from demanding that I run tactical his way. I've proven my worth on Cybertron all these vorns."

"I will speak to him. And maybe Prime will as well." Jazz stopped, considering the current CTO. "If you find yourself in that situation again, call me. I will remove him before it escalates too badly." He finally offered. Prowl was his chief concern, and he would sacrifice anything, even his pride, to keep Prowl safe and functioning.

Ultra Magnus inclined his helm in understanding and acceptance as his field smoothed out. "I will. I do not wish harm to your creation." He offered, a small hit to his own pride but worth it if it brought a bit more peace to a difficult command.

Jazz just barely hid his start at the phrasing. He managed a polite nod of his helm, then let himself out of the tactical center.

His warning was delivered, a future repeat hopefully avoided, and now all he wanted to do was return to his mate and check that Prowl was safe and settled. He'd left Prowl curled up on their berth recharging the net results of the emotional chaos away. It was something Prowl had learned early in his functioning. What he couldn't process directly he could often cope with in defrag. Or at least settle it into a state where he could cope with it directly.

Just thinking about the state of his mate revved Jazz's engine again, but he throttled it back. It did no good to be angry now. He needed to be calm to help Prowl be calm. Prowl did hate to lose even more than most mecha, but what was really traumatizing him was how easily he lost now. It was a condition Jazz could sympathize with. Though he didn't understand how Prowl could be so obsessed with victory and have no personal ambition worth mentioning, he understood enough about the loss of ability though.

A fresh flash of rage towards the Security Director and his mate raced through him before he got that under control at his door. He opened the door and crossed the room to his mate, settling on the berth and wrapping his arms carefully around his mate, his own field centered and calm. He would stay here as long as Prowl needed to process, or until it was time to refuel.

He didn't hide the small, grateful thrill he felt when Prowl nuzzled into the embrace and seemed to relax, taking comfort in Jazz's mere presence. As bad as the situation was, Jazz could be thankful of that. Yes, Prowl had been hurt, badly, by events, but his trust in his mate hadn't wavered.

It felt good for them both.

* * *

The twins walked down the hall, scuffed and scraped and clearly resigned to their fate. This was a familiar walk for them, even if it wasn't for their current companion. The trip to Prowl's office for one offense or another was an annual event. Usually they had meant to cause trouble. For once this time they actually hadn't.

A little bit of trash talk had led to a challenge, and that challenge just hadn't made it to the training room, as the broken tables and scars on the wall in the rec room demonstrated.

It had been more than a little fun while it lasted, and Sideswipe glanced at his twin, unable to hide a smile at the contentment that was still spilling off the golden mech. The one reason that Sunstreaker would endanger his pristine finish was a good fight, and this one had been more than satisfactory. Maybe they could arrange something with Drift once they had finished serving whatever sentence Prowl was going to dole out this time.

Their calmness aided Drift's calm, not that he would show his unease at the first punishment from a new commander. In his experience they were often overly harsh, as if they were trying to make him pay for what he'd done as Deadlock, but couldn't thanks to Prime's pardon once he'd taken on the Autobot brand. He wasn't the first Decepticon to go Autobot, but he was by far the highest ranked one, and easily the most well known for slaughter.

It had been an honest surprise when the taunting by the twins, mechs he had faced several times as Deadlock, had turned into something good. The sparring, despite the unapproved location, left all three of them in a good mood, their fields humming with a kind of sated pleasure that only war-frames produced.

The twins pinged the door, announcing their arrival, and flicked a bit of surprise across their fields when it didn't immediately open. It was only a ten nanoklik delay, but it was noticeable, especially given Prowl was alone when they entered.

The Praxian sighed and made a small motion for the three to stand in front of his desk. "What do you have to say for yourselves?" he focused on Sideswipe first.

"Well, we feel better. And we didn't hurt anyone else." Sideswipe mused, his optics sweeping over Prowl and noting the small changes in the Praxian. They might end irritated with Prowl as the main disciplinarian of the Ark crew, but both of the twins did respect him as the tactical mind and commanding officer that he was.

And Sideswipe at least was familiar enough with the Praxian's usual manner to notice the small things that were off. The way that Prowl's doorwings moved just a little more than usual. The added layer of weariness that seemed to weight on his normally impeccable posture. The nanoklik of slowness between thought and action.

He didn't even have to look at his twin to know that Sunstreaker had noticed all of this as well, and probably things that were escaping Sideswipe's notice. That was part of what made the two of them so effective. They were not perfect mirrors of each other, as so many seemed to think. There were halves of a whole, and that whole equaled more than any single mech could ever hope to be with two sets of sensors and processors and frames to use all they gathered.

"And the reason you could not make it to the training rooms before attempting to tear each other apart?" Prowl asked. It was a long-familiar routine, the only unusual element was that the third member of the scuffle was just as much at fault as the twins.

"The chance was too good to wait?" Sideswipe suggested, and Sunstreaker smirked beside him. Neither of them would admit that an audience made a good fight that much better, and there had been an enthusiastic cheering section this time around.

Prowl scowled at them, then shifted his intense gaze to Drift, who didn't so much as twitch under it. "Drift, what is your side of this?"

Being addressed by designation was surprising to the swordsmech, but he didn't show much. "A willing participant."

Prowl waited for more, then shifted back to the twins when it became apparent that nothing more was forthcoming. He pulled out a datapad from his desk and made a bit of a show of skimming it to cover his need to comm his mate. ::Jazz, I need a new punishment for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Brawling in the rec room, property damage.::

::I thought I had heard something about a very entertaining show going on there. Didn't have time to make it down there before it was broken up.:: Jazz hummed over the link. ::How much damage?::

::Two tables, a chair and cosmetic wall damage,:: Prowl replied. ::I'm sure it was 'interesting' given it involved both of them and Drift. According to Drift, it was completely mutual on all parts. I'm inclined to believe him, even though the twins were taunting him.::

::So how bad do you want to punish them? They could clean the rec room from top to bottom. And since Sunstreaker is involved, maybe go ahead and have them repaint it. It's needed it for a while.:: Jazz suggested.

Prowl hummed thoughtfully. ::That is suitable. Thank you.:: He closed the comm. "The three of you will clean the rec room completely. Every surface, every item. You will also repaint it. If I find anything I do not approve of when you are finished, you will begin again and the enlisted washracks will be added to your punishment. Understood?"

Sideswipe had to catch himself, and felt Sunstreaker do the same. Prowl was usually fair- they were both willing to admit that- but fighting in a public place was something that he tended to frown on more. This wasn't bad as punishments went. Just very boring and time consuming. He could feel from his other side just how startled Drift was, though his expressional showed nothing.

"Understood." The red mech answered as his twin nodded in agreement.

"Yes sir," Drift inclined his helm, perfectly controlled and holding his relief at the punishment. He'd honestly been expecting to be tossed into the hole, and the twins given something lighter, probably brig time.

"Dismissed," Prowl told all three of them, his attention once more on his terminal before they even walked out.

When the door closed behind them, Drift dared to ask. "What surprised you?"

"Prowl's fair, but he's _off_ too. He doesn't normally go that lightly on public brawling. Cleaning is normal, but I was expecting two to three times as much to do." Sideswipe explained.

"And he usually goes out of his way to give you something that you really aren't going to enjoy." Sunstreaker grumbled. "I still haven't forgotten the time we had to reorganize the storerooms under Perceptor's instruction."

Sideswipe shuddered. "What were you expecting? I teeked how startled you were."

Drift shrugged a long spaulder. "I was expecting the hole, with brig time for you two."

The pair turned to look at him. "Is that what you are used to?" Sideswipe finally asked.

"Before Magnus," he nodded and shrugged again. "Most really don't like me."

The pair shuddered. "Well, the brig is probably the worst you'll find here. And the worst thing about that is how processor numbing nothing but orange walls and energy bars can be." Sideswipe finally said as he started walking again. "And we might as well get started. The faster we get this done to Prowl's standards, the sooner we can do something interesting. At least we already know where the paint is."

"I take it he's more creative than most about punishments?" Drift asked as he followed along. "Once we're done, maybe we can visit the training rooms?"

"Creative...or practical." Sideswipe said, considering. "If he can put you to work doing something that he considers productive it's a better use of resources in his processor. Hence us cleaning the rec room top to bottom. We've done the store rooms in the past. And the enlisted wash racks is a common one."

"And one that he always seems to time for right after Hound and Beachcomber have been on some extended mission." Sunstreaker griped.

Sideswipe merely snickered at his twin before smiling at Drift. "And yes, after we're done, I'm sure we can find an open training room. Or at least some place that won't land our afts back in Prowl's office twice in the same day."

"That is going to take some getting used to," Drift grumbled. "Three point two joors." He shook his helm. "So short a cycle."


	11. How to End a War

Prowl sipped on some of the best high grade Earth had yet produced. Part of a rare officially sanctioned batch because Perceptor had requested it. The scientist wanted to know if the magma generated energon that they were producing would retain its potency ration as it was condensed. Remembering Sideswipe's expression when he'd told the Ark's resident distiller brought a smile to Prowl's lip plates and amusement to his field.

Next to him his mate's field wrapped around him in a warm blanket of contentment and ease. Times like this, where they could relax for a few joors and not have to worry about their image or authority with other mecha present, were rare and treasured. It was good just to be able to get away sometimes, surely Prime's intention when he invited a few select mecha over for energon. Jazz already knew it was doing his mate some good and it earned the Prime a warm, thankful look for the effort.

"Sideswipe outdid himself this time. Perceptor might have to ask for another batch. Just to make sure the results are consistent, of course." Jazz suggested, expression one of pure innocence even if Prowl could read the hopeful, mischievous edge in his field.

"Of course," Optimus chuckled, his optics glittering at the relaxed set of his SIC's armor. They managed these get-togethers far too rarely and this one was well past needed. "Only the next batch should be medical grade."

"Absolutely," Ratchet barked a laughed and gulped a mouthful. "Let's see the little pit spawn manage that."

"You really planning to _challenge_ him, Ratchet?" Jazz asked, visor going bright with interest. That little scenario could escalate into some serious entertainment, depending on how it played out.

The old medic grinned devilishly. "If I planned to challenge the little glitch, I'd challenge him to make jellies."

The sudden rev of Prowl's engine surprised everyone, including Prowl, who promptly hid behind his cube.

Jazz smirked and leaned against his mate, privately wondering if there was some way to find some of them anyway just to please Prowl.

"I'll look the other way." Optimus promised, the light in his optics saying that he would like some as well.

"Very well," Prowl managed to keep a steady expression despite how excited the idea made him. "I will challenge our resident distiller to make some jellies."

Jazz laughed, delighted at the change in his mate, stopping only when his comm went off.

::Omega Drone is rust.:: a heavily encrypted text appeared on his HUD.

"One down." He announced quietly as he looked around the room and helped himself to another gulp of high grade, knowing that they would know what he was talking about. Prowl purred and leaned against him. Optimus went quiet, his optics off as he grieved a lost spark. Ratchet simply nodded.

"The captures?" Prowl nuzzled him.

"Two down, one to go," Jazz leaned in to kiss him. "And however many of themselves they off before they decide who is in charge. It'll all be over except for the shouting by dawn."

Prowl welcomed the kiss, even pressing into it as a hand snaked up Jazz's back to strok his neck, holding him into it longer. They were both warming when Prowl finally let go. "Your agents deserve to be recognized for their action when they return, should they wish to accept it."

"Some of them might. Most of them won't." Jazz said quietly as he continued to hold Prowl close. He knew that most of them would simply want to vanish back into the shadows that they had come from, the ones that had functioned for so long in it. Shadows that were safe and comfortable. He also knew that the offer, and especially the phrasing, would make many of them feel good whether they accepted it or not.

"And once it is all over we can focus on the future. On turning all those plans you have been making into realities." Jazz murmured, ignoring their host and the other guest for a bit as he focused on Prowl. ::A home for _us_.::

"Yes," Prowl responded to both statements as he claimed another long, leisurely and mostly chaste kiss. "Within a vorn I will be myself again."

"Yes." Jazz agreed, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leaned in to whisper. "Though I wouldn't object to this little bit of change hanging around."

"No." Ratchet groaned as Optimus laughed.

Prowl rumbled in an odd form of good humor. "You should not count on it. It is not natural for me."

"I know. But am I allowed to enjoy it while it is here?" Jazz asked innocently.

"Of course," Prowl stole another kiss. "I trust you," he murmured softly between their lips.

"Gawk, get a room you two," Ratchet huffed with a completely fake scowl.

Jazz hummed as a text comm came in. "The Nemesis job is done."

"They will be in chaos for several days sorting out the new command structure," Prowl sounded rather gleeful, and decidedly vindictively pleased.

"Indeed they will." Jazz purred. "Shall we do as Ratchet suggested and 'get a room' and celebrate?"

"Since they'd rather not watch us," Prowl chuckled, only slightly disoriented from the level of abnormal the statement implications were for him.

"Take your high grade with you," Optimus chuckled, standing to collect the two additional cubes they each had coming from the pile.

Jazz laughed as he subspaced the cubes with a nod of thanks and offered his mate a hand. "Their loss."

* * *

Silverbolt banked slowly, enjoying the feel of the sun on his plating. It was a normal patrol, not too high and in clear open sky, and a nice change since for the moment it was quiet and peaceful. He could still feel his brothers over the gestalt bond, arguing among themselves and relaying whatever they saw by turn, but for once they were leaving him out of it, and he as taking full advantage of the rare occurrence.

Right until his comm pinged and the identification of the owner almost knocked him from the air.

~ _Bolt!_ ~ the others were instantly focused on him at the burst of shock-panic-what-the-pit that slammed through the gestalt bond.

~Okay. I'm okay.~ Silverbolt responded as he leveled out, taking a shallow decent into an open field and opening the comm line as soon as he hit the ground and transformed. ::Yes?:: He demanded, the frown on his face carrying just as clearly through his voice over his comm to the mech contacting him.

::Deliver a message to Prime and Jazz. I command the Decepticons, and I am ready for peace talks.::

Thundercracker? Silverbolt's systems almost stuttered once more. Thundercracker was in charge of the Decepticons? What in Pit had happened?

::I will relay the message. I am sure one of them will be in contact with you soon. Is there anything else you wish me to communicate?:: Silverbolt asked, his voice far more steady than the rest of him in the moment. His brothers landed, gathered around him. The gestalt bond buzzed with concern and ready-to-fight-just-point-us-where but they kept their vocalizers mute.

There was a brief pause. ::I'd like Starscream's body returned.:: Thundercracker's voice was quieter, far less effort made to be commanding. ::I will be ready for comm contact.:: He added before the connection closed.

Silverbolt leaned into the freely offered support, accepting it as he took another entire klik to process all that he had just learned. Finally he opened another comm, this one to the Ark. ::I need to speak with Prime and Jazz urgently. ETA three kliks.::

::Understood, Silverbolt,:: Prowl's voice replied. ::Any damage?::

::Negative. Intel only.:: Silverbolt answered, unwilling to say more over the line he took one of the three kliks he has estimated to pull himself back together enough to fly once more, his brothers hovering like worried hens all around him as the made their way back. He never forgot that at least two of them were below him at any point, ready to catch him, to give him a solid surface under him if he needed it.

When they landed outside the main entrance, Jazz and Prowl were there to greet them.

Neither of them seemed surprised in the least at his current state, only stepping forward to escort him inside, Prowl facing down his brothers as he ordered them away to refuel, and then softening just a little as he promised that Silverbolt would be taken care of.

"It's okay, Bolt," Jazz patted his side soothingly as they walked to the main officers' meeting room. "Wasn't expecting you to be the contact point, but we were expecting a call," Jazz added while Silverbolt took in that he was facing far more than Prime and Jazz. It was a full officers' meeting and then some.

"At ease, Silverbolt," Prime's deep rumble went right to the gestalt leader's spark in the best ways. "Tell us what happened."

With a deep vent the large mech drew himself straight, addressing his Prime first and by default the others present.

"I received a comm from Thundercracker. He informed me that he was in charge of Deceptions, and wished to talk peace. He did not say anything else initially."

Silverbolt's optics dimmed just slightly as he continued. "When I asked if there was anything else he wanted me to relay, he requested that Starscream's frame be returned."

Prime's gaze sharpened and snapped to Jazz, who shrugged. "We couldn't leave wiped mecha there. They're safe and well cared for Prime. We put a lot of work into _not_ killing 'm."

Silverbolt eased some at the information. The connection between fliers meant much more to him than it ever could to a natural grounder, and he had sensed the underlying distress when Thundercracker had made the request. While he had little personal love for the Decepticon Air Commander, he found it hard to wish the loss of a wingmate on anyone. "He thinks him deactivated, Prime. The news that he is not will be a great relief and..." as much as it pained to point this out, "it might be a bargaining strength in your favor."

"I know," Prime said kindly.

"We aren't expecting to need much," Jazz grinned at Silverbolt. "Not with the rest of the Decepticon officers either deactivated in their berth or wiped clean and MIA as far as Thunder's concerned. If he contacts you again, you delivered your message well. We can handle it from here."

"He is expecting you to contact him." Silverbolt informed them, openly pinging the comm frequency that he had been contacted on among those who needed to know. "I took the liberty of telling him that I did not think he would have to wait long for a response." 

"You assumed correctly," Prime said gravely, but with sub harmonics of approval.

With that Silverbolt left, grateful that he was returning to his brothers and trying not to think about what had happened in the Nemesis.

"Is there anything to discuss before we hail the Nemesis?" Prowl asked calmly.

"I would like to know what the intended use for the wiped mecha is." Prime said, looking around but his attention finally settling on Prowl and Jazz.

"Cosmetic refit so they are harder to ID by enemies and treat them as the sparklings they are," Jazz shrugged. "As of now, they're effectively newly sparked mecha from Vector Sigma and in stasis. I figured when things settle a bit, we'll recruit a few volunteers to act as creators for them."

"And they will just be left in stasis until the time is right to wake them. With the possible exception of Starscream." Optimus nodded, clearly pleased with the results. "Ratchet, I want you to check on them. I know Ops doesn't have a full medic anymore."

The CMO grunted and nodded. Jazz made no objection.

"If we are ready then?" Prowl looked at Prime.

"So long as everything else in place, I believe delaying any longer than we must will only make things more difficult." Optimus said with a nod that doubled as permission for Prowl to continue. In less than a klik Thundercracker's grim visage appeared on the main screen.

"Optimus Prime," the Seeker greeted stiffly. "I take it your Aerial delivered the message." Deep red optics flicked around the mechs visible beyond the Prime and locked onto Jazz. "I've confirmed seven targets. Were there any more?"

"That's it, m' mech," Jazz said cheerfully.

The seeker relaxed a fraction, the change still visible over the screen. Relief that he needed to fear no more deactivations that were not the doing of the Decepticons among their own number. 

"Then you are ready to speak terms of peace?" The Prime inquired, voice calm but authoritative.

"Yes," Thundercracker nodded. His wings, only partially visible, flared up in a reflexive effort to reinforce his own status and authority. "You know you will not get everything you want."

"As I am sure you are aware of the same thing." Optimus answered in the same tone, with no visible reaction to the display. He knew that the display wasn't really towards him, but for the Decepticons in the command center beyond the Seeker. Mecha that Thundercracker only had the most tenuous of control over.

There was a brief hesitation as Thundercracker realized that Prime had finished. "State your initial terms."

"You will immediately cease all hostile activities against any Neutrals, Autobots, and any of our allies." Optimus stated. "You will release any prisoners of war that you are holding. You will relinquish control of all weapons and ammunition. You will also hand over all stockpiles of supplies and energon in your possession. 

"Fine, fine, not a chance in the Pit, and are you _kidding_?" Thundercracker's flared wings were most definitely directed at Prime this time. "I'm willing to talk peace, not absolute surrender!"

"I am not kidding on any level." Optimus replied. "You would be allowed access to the materials and energon."

"But not control any of it or able to defend ourselves," the Seeker hissed angrily. "We'd be completely dependant on you for our survival. No. I'm offering to end the war, end the fighting, the killing, return our prisoners to you as healthy as they are right now, to work with you for something we can both accept. What are you going to offer for my cooperation?"

"Any medical assistance you require. A pooling of resources." Optimus glanced at his officers. "A compromise on the weapons- you will surrender all large assault weapons and ammunition, and any weapons of mass destruction in your possession. In return you would be allowed to retain all personal arms." 

Thundercracker snarled something incomprehensible to most in the room and killed the connection.

"That went well," Jazz quipped, relaxed along with his mate.

"Now is not the time for joking," Ultra Magnus rumbled at him.

"He wasn't joking," Prowl said evenly, then glanced at his mate. "Or possibly he was. He is not incorrect, however. That was quite successful for the initial exchange."

"It has at least opened the door to discussion, and we have the promise of the end of hostilities, at least for a little while. There is no need to rush if haste is going to cause more harm than good now." Optimus mused, stretching carefully.

"It has been a very long, very damaging war," Prowl agreed. "He must ensure he is not perceived as weak by his own troops or anything he agrees to will only be binding for a few." He smiled slightly at the Prime. "Do not be surprised or bothered when he reacts like that. It is expected."

"Seekers," someone muttered.

"Decepticons," another shrugged back.

"A noble," Mirage said simply, drawing all attention to himself.

"And as long as it is expected it can be planned for and worked around." Optimus said, looking around at his command, at the officers that had worked with him and stood beside him. "A hard copy of terms needs to be laid out in a form that both sides can review easily, and prioritized on what is negotiable and what is not."

Prowl simply offered him a datapad to the snickers of more than a few in the room.

Optimus took it graciously, well aware that he had walked into that one, but also glad that he had. The easy laughter at his expense was something that had been missing far too often during the looming tension of the war. The thought of peace, while difficult in its own right, was at least hope compared to the bleak landscape of war.

"Is there anything else that needs to be addressed while I look this over and use my spare time to invent things to keep you all busy?" He was clearly not asking enough of his mecha if they were all one step ahead of him.

"Keeping this lot and the other in one piece when they don't have anything else to do will keep me busy," Ratchet huffed, but the hope was making it hard for even him to be grouchy.

"No," Prowl said firmly, that he had plans for his time was easy to see and easier to teek.

"Then dismissed." Optimus announced, knowing that the Ark was probably going to explode somewhat once word got out, and not terribly upset about it.

Prowl did walk out at something resembling his normal posture and speed, but the firm grip he had on his mate's hand and the silly grin Jazz was wearing looked very much out of place. It still managed to bring a smile to everyone who saw it, and then another when it sank in that Prowl didn't care that they'd seen.

The intense desire in his in mate's field had Jazz excited and curious. He hadn't been kidding about this part of Prowl hanging around after the sparkling had separated and Prowl had his processors all back in place. It was nice, fun, to be claimed like this, openly and publicly, even if it wasn't a normal thing for his mate to do.

"I think you managed to startle some mecha there love." Jazz purred as they reached their quarters and the door closed.

Prowl simply silenced him with a kiss and growled "don't care" as his hands worked along Jazz's sides and undercarriage. His mate shuddered and gasped, melting into the touches and the kiss with a moan. 

"Not that I am protesting at all love, but what-?" Jazz was interrupted by another kiss, glossa tangling aggressively with his love's as his hands found Prowl's frame.

"Want your spike, _now_." Prowl growled, shameless and demanding when he finally let Jazz's mouth go. "Want to feel you fill me, again and again, until there's no room left and it can only pour out."

Jazz growled at the challenge, a hand grasping Prowl's helm to claim another deep kiss before pulling his mate the short distance to the berth. "As you command, my love."

Prowl went along willingly, happy to submit while his lover had such eagerness. He always enjoyed Jazz riled like this, but this time it had an ulterior motive. He needed his mate to be worn out enough that he'd lay still for what Prowl had in mind.

Jazz guided his mate onto the berth, turning Prowl so the Praxian was on his hands and knees. Demanding fingers played over Prowl's valve cover as the other hand rose to tease at a sensor wing. "Want your wings first, want to play with them as you cry out my designation. Then you on your back, spread under me, open to me so I can look down and see your pleasure."

A shudder and excited ripple caressed Prowl's entire frame as his valve cover slid open to the probing fingers, offering the slick, hot passage for Jazz to explore. He was very ready, willing and eager. His doorwings pressed into the touch, knowing just how good it would feel.

"Primus, Prowl." Jazz groaned, his spike extending and pressurizing quickly as his fingers caressed and teased the smooth, slick valve. "So good, my love, your pleasure." He moaned as he buried himself in his mate, panting at the tight, slick heat surrounding him. He knew he was in a losing battle when Prowl's considerable ability to focus centered on manipulating his valve structures, from calipers to cabling to lining, to draw out the most intense pleasure possible from his mate.

"Love the way you make me feel," Prowl moved back, shivering as he rocked into Jazz's thrusts, all his effort on drawing out that first of many overloads he intended tonight.

It was a battle that he knew he would never win, but that didn't stop Jazz from trying as his hands played along his mate's wings and he forced himself to focus for just a klik, locking Prowl's request in his processor before surrendering to the pleasure spreading through him. Warning of his first overload, driven desire and pleasure came in for the form of tight hands on Prowl's hips, immobilizing the Praxian as Jazz spilled into his mate with a keen. He felt Prowl's pleasure, the enjoyment his mate got even without an overload, and shuddered with hiccupping vents as he came down from the rolling high to the sensation of Prowl's valve squeezing and rippling around him, working the charged transfluid into them both as Prowl moaned in pleasure.

"More," Prowl purred, shivering with the sensations of being filled. "Make me scream your designation." 

"Challenge love?" Jazz rumbled as he started to thrust once more, angling his hips to drive deeper into his lover as his hands moved over Prowl's, seeking the points that he knew created the most pleasure in his mate. "You are going to scream it loud enough for the entire base to hear. Begging for me before I am done with you. So that everyone will know who you belong to, who claims you." 

"Jazz!" Prowl willingly cried out, pressing into every touch and each thrust that drove his sluggishly building charge higher. "Only you. Only ever you."

"Yes. Mine. My love." Jazz purred, adding the magnets in his hands to the touches on Prowl's wings and reveling in the way his mate bucked and _howled_. "Come with me this time, love. Share the pleasure with me."

"Yes, please, want to, want you, want to be together," Prowl didn't even try to stop the words from spilling from his vocalizer, not even checking for what he was saying. Jazz had earned his trust not to use any of it against him so Prowl could let go and simply enjoy. It still felt odd, not-right, to part of him that he couldn't be bothered to listen to anymore. "Love you, fill me --- oohhhh --- yes!"

In a surprising short time Jazz felt his charge peaking again, his thrust falling out of time as he panted and moaned. "Let go love, let go. Please."

"Close," Prowl shivered, moaning shamelessly as he thrust back against his mate's motions, his valve clenched tight and rippling, milking the spike inside him, trying to draw it deeper. He fluttered his doorwings, asking for a little attention to help him out.

Jazz focused for a moment, upping the charge in his hands and moving the motions closer into the base of the wings, arching over his mate's frame to hum and mouth the housing there in response. The hum became a moan when Prowl keened loudly, the charge licking over his frame to dance against Jazz's as Prowl surrendered willingly to the rush of bliss and energy of his overload, trembling at the strength of its grip.

Jazz forced himself to hold out just a few nanokliks longer, trembling as Prowl's pleasure washed over him, before he was swallowed up in his own pleasure. A blinding wave that washed through him and left him panting and limp against his mate's back as he came down from the high. He could feel Prowl's hum of enjoyment and pleasure as the Praxian settled under him.

"Got more in you?" Prowl purred, a deep rumble of desire.

"Not even close to done with you." Jazz purred as he nuzzled Prowl's helm. 

"Good," Prowl cycled his valve around his mate's spike, teasing as much as encouraging.

With a soft moan Jazz gathered himself and pulled out of his mate, settling back on the berth. "Over." He ordered, his visor bright as he watched Prowl make a show of his dripping valve and fluttering doorwings as he rolled smoothly to his back. 

Doorwings splayed to rub against the soft berth covering, Prowl spread his legs, knees bent, and gaze locked on Jazz. "Come here and fill me," he trilled, tone as sultry as Jazz had ever heard from his mate.

"Gladly, my love." Jazz purred as he shifted over his mate, leaning down to kiss Prowl passionately. His glossa was welcomed by Prowl's, stroked and sucked until Jazz moaned and pulled back from the kiss. He shifted to sink slowly into Prowl's hungry slick valve, gaze locked on Prowl's pleasure-filled face as his own field flared with the bliss of being with the mecha he loved.

Prowl's arms came up to hold him, stroking along his back as he rolled his hips into Jazz's and clenched his valve around the spike he so enjoyed, one that never hurt or used him.

"Love you." Jazz murmured as he started to thrust slowly into his love. "So proud. So perfect. My mate. My match."

"Yours," Prowl moaned, his optics dimming as he focused on the pleasure of his frame. "Always yours." The motions came naturally now after so long with this mech, a welcome familiarity in a time when so very little was predictable or understood. "Never wanted another. No one can make me feel like you."

"All yours, forever." Jazz promised, the words coming from his spark as he lost himself in pleasuring his mate. He lost track of how many times he cried out in bliss and spilled into Prowl and how many times Prowl keened his designation as a blessing. Only when it eventually ended he was too worn out and sated to move. Not even for a Decepticon attack.

Through a bleary awareness, he felt Prowl move, cycle his valve questioningly as he nuzzled.

"Nnnn." Jazz grunted, forcing himself back to awareness and pulling out slowly. "Sated, love?" He asked as he snuggled into Prowl.

"Enough," Prowl purred as he stroked along his mate's sides. "I want to try something new now."

"New? And you wait until I'm exhausted to suggest it?" Jazz asked, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Yes," Prowl brought a hand forward to caress Jazz's cheek as nervousness rose in his field. "I want ... I don't want you in any condition to move."

"Oh no." Jazz chuckled softly, turning his face to nuzzle into Prowl's hand. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Look at your spark," Prowl only just managed to get the glyphs out. "Maybe touch."

Jazz was quiet for a klik as he looked up at his mate, completely willing even though the concern in his field. "You know that it is yours, my love. Whenever you want. However you want."

"I want to merge with you, eventually." Prowl said firmly, determination in every line of his frame and field. "I can't allow what happened to set fully or I'll never be able to say yes."

"Nothing would make me happier then to be able to give that to you." Jazz said quietly, field reaching out to wrap Prowl in a warm blanket of love and support. With a final kiss to Prowl's hand Jazz eased back, relaxing fully on the berth and relinquishing all control to his love. "I am yours to command."

"Mine to love," Prowl murmured as he slid over to straddle his lover's hips, smearing transfluid everywhere. Not that either noticed. They were both far too focused on what was going to happen. They were focused on Prowl's tension, Jazz's passive support and love across their fields.

White hands moved to caress Jazz's chest plate, tracing the racing lines of blue and red, and the Autobot insignia there. Relaxing himself in increments so each jump in tension with the next stage would never exceed his ability to control.

Jazz sighed softly, visor dimming as he simply enjoyed the touch of his mate, the warmth of Prowl's frame over his, and the continuing sensation of how lucky and in love he was. Maybe he'd even feel his mate's spark by the time their creation was grown. He kept his focus on how Prowl was teeking, the level of tension as it gradually decreased.

"Unlock," Prowl said softly, his processors in an almost trance-like state. "Let me open them."

Jazz complied instantly, the soft click of his chest plates unlocking audible in the quiet room as he obeyed his mate's orders to the letter. A flicker of tension came from Prowl, but that nothing changed visually helped him a lot as he continued to touch, stroking along armor and color lines until a gentle pressure parted Jazz's chest plates just a bit.

Soft blue light flared through the slender opening, flaring for a moment before calming once more. Prowl's vents hitched sharply and everything froze. He didn't close the chest plates though, and neither did he move away.

Jazz lay still on the berth, watching his mate and praying silently to Primus. His spark knew the strength of his mate, believed in Prowl with all its power. This was something he had longed for since he had first laid optics on Prowl, even if he had not recognized the feelings for what they were then.

His spark wanted this mech, wanted all of Prowl. Wanted to possess him and not share him with anyone else. And in exchange it wished to owned, to be claimed and desired and wanted until it pulsed its last and beyond.

For the first time, Jazz now _knew_ that Prowl wished the same thing. He'd long known that Prowl did not wish to share his frame with another, but the way he guarded his spark had left doubts to the rest. Whatever had changed to bring Prowl to say it and move forward, Jazz was grateful to.

Very slowly, Prowl's fingers slid along the edges of Jazz's armor, allowing the spark light to dance over them. He felt the warmth and energy and for the first time he allowed himself to contemplate that this was a possibility. He wasn't ready to do more than look, but he was ready to work on it. The war was over, or nearly so. He could pay his contract off, even if he knew that Optimus Prime would give him that blank look over it, then be distressed. It didn't matter. Prowl needed the closure, the formality of that long-gone culture he'd been sparked into before he could do more than briefly contemplate what lay beyond his service.

So he accepted that the war was all but over, that soon he would insist that the Prime take his credits and free him, and then....

A deep gust of air escaped Prowl as his processors forcefully shut down the line of thought that was still considered mildly treasonous. Gently he closed Jazz's chest plates, the movements slow and controlled, and settled on his side against the mech he loved enough to push himself this hard. "Enough for one orn," he murmured.

"My love." Jazz purred, wrapping his arms around Prowl, pride rich in his field. 

Prowl snuggled into the contact and allowed the pride and approval to wash through him and make it just a little bit more okay to be contemplating where this was going. There was now a lot more than his coding to deal with, but he could. Jazz was worth it.


	12. Prowl's Loss

In his office Prowl moaned in a kind of pain that was that of loss. One hand braced on his desk, the other went to his helm as he struggled to reassess his new limits and install them. It was happening every six orns now and he wasn't even two metacycles into the carry. At the rate of acceleration he would no longer be able to serve as an officer of any rank within four metacycles. Even now he should probably step down as SIC.

A shudder passed through his frame and he sank to the floor, his frame curling into a ball and he strangled the sob of grief and hate he could no longer cope with.

In the security office, Red Alert's vents shuddered and then stopped as he watched one of his worst nightmares play out. His nest shutting down.

::Ratchet, Prowl is in his office and in distress,:: he commed the medic at top priority.

::What sort of distress?:: Ratchet demanded, his response instant over the comm line that kept perpetually open.

::Emotional-physical, partial shutdown, processor-centric,:: the security director said, his voice crackling with his own distress. ::It's not his glitch,:: he added with absolute certainty. ::I _know_ what that looks like.::

::Self induced.:: Ratchet concluded then as he left the med bay and headed straight for Prowl's office. ::Best contact Jazz. I am going to need his help.::

::He was next on the list with Prime,:: Red Alert assured him before putting Ratchet on an open but non-transmitting line and pinging Jazz and Prime. ::Please report to Prowl's office. Medical emergency. Ratchet is already underway.::

A garbled rage filled response filtered back over the connection with Jazz before it went dead, in stark contrast to concerned but calm acknowledgement that Optimus offered instead to the news. 

When Prime left the line open, Red Alert continued to fill him in as the big mech moved purposefully towards his SIC's office. ::He did not glitch. However it is processor-based resulting in a partial shutdown. Ratchet believes it is self-induced and I can find nothing to indicate otherwise. There was no warning before he displayed significant distress.::

Jazz actually beat Ratchet to his mate's office, despite having been called after the medic. Ratchet had a small stray thought that he probably didn't want to know how the smaller mech had managed such a feat before all of his attention shifted to Prowl. He didn't even try to shoo Jazz away from holding his mate. It was clear from Prowl's field that the contact and small sounds Jazz made, nonsense but intended to comfort, was already doing some good.

"I'm going to plug in," he warned them both before connecting to Prowl's medical port. With Prowl at least somewhat cognizant Ratchet allowed the ID checking to proceed. So long as Prowl let him in, there was no need to break his way in. The scene Ratchet mentally stepped into confused him for a moment. It felt much more like checking in on Jazz than Prowl.

That was when it hit him what had happened and he carefully called up the tac-net function report. 68.1% maximum functionality.

"He's not in any immediate danger," Ratchet sighed in relief and unplugged. "I want him in medbay." He caught Prowl's attention with only a bit of difficulty. "I know you'd rather walk."

Prowl's engine grumbled as his field lashed out with all the frustrated anger that no longer had a check.

"You can lean on me love." Jazz soothed him, looking from Prowl to Ratchet. "And they will make sure that the halls are clear so that no one else sees you." He promised.

"There is nothing to repair," Prowl growled, mostly at Ratchet. "It's doing what it's supposed to do. My functionality has simply decreased below acceptable levels for a command officer. That ... hurt."

"We can discuss a course of action once Ratchet has had a chance to look you over. It will make all of us feel better to know for sure that there is nothing damaged with your frame or processor." Optimus rumbled, the soothing words part command and part concern for the mech that was a valuable officer and a good friend.

"Very well," Prowl acquiesced as smoothly and quickly as he ever did to his Prime, a mech he still respected deeply and was loyal to despite the creator code having rewritten so much of his priority tree he no longer felt like himself. While he did nothing to dislodge Jazz's assistance, honestly needing the care and emotional support at the moment, he also needed to make it clear in the controlled way he stood to face them that his frame was fine. _He_ might not be, but everything said that once the sparkling separated and his frame dismantled the tiny factory inside him he would return to his former level of capability.

A doorwing brushed lightly against Jazz in a gesture of thanks and trust-filled welcome to remain close and Prowl nodded to Ratchet to lead the way. The medic started, then paused as Jazz stopped Prowl, turning the other towards him and kissing his mate, the gesture full of love, support, and promise. All four of them were surprised on some level when Prowl kissed him back and reached up to embrace him. Though they all were aware on some level that this was normal in private, for Prowl to be this openly demonstrative in public was not normal on any level.

Prime reset his vocalizer loud enough to startle Prowl out of what was quickly becoming a bit too intimate for the venue.

"Yes," Prowl almost sounded normal despite the speed of his fans. He didn't let go of Jazz as they walked to the medbay with Prime, Red Alert and Bumblebee clearing the way ahead of them.

It was a fast trip, and smooth with all of the coordination that was taking place. Jazz led Prowl straight to the berth that Ratchet indicated when they entered the med bay, settling the Praxian on it with another tender kiss and a gentle request. "Humor us love?" 

"Yes," Prowl leaned against him, his field smoothing by the nanoklik. "The realization of my new limits merely entered my awareness abruptly. I was not ready. I am not ready."

"I need you to move to get full readings," Ratchet told Jazz.

Jazz had to stifle a growl, slightly surprised at his own reaction at the rather reasonable request, and stepped back from his mate with one last caress of a doorwing.

Across the room Optimus moved, making himself comfortable but catching the smaller mech's ultra alert senses at the moment. He watched as Ratchet performed his scans, ran a couple tests to be very sure that an emotional breakdown was truly all it was, all under Jazz's sharp scrutiny and Prowl's increasing mental lethargy.

By the time Jazz was allowed to attach himself to his mate again Ratchet looked disgruntled, faced with something he couldn't fix even though he knew exactly what was going on. He looked between the three of them. "He's right, on all of it. Just let me know if you want his duty reduction under a medical tag or not."

"Are you ready to talk?" Prime asked Prowl, approaching slowly.

"As I will be," Prowl sat up with a resigned x-vent. Still he leaned against Jazz with a resigned air about him. "I have repeatedly miscalculated the demand of the sparkling related systems. My ability to function has been compromised more than I anticipated and far sooner. It is even more energy hungry than my tac-net."

"What duties do you believe you are capable of performing?" Optimus asked gently. He knew his second well, after all these vorns. He trusted Prowl to recognize his limits, and he also knew how much having a purpose meant to the other. He would take nothing from Prowl that he didn't have to.

"Scheduling, some of the reports," he responded with the things he was reasonably confident he could handle even without his tac-net; the things he could do through the entire process. "I should be able to handle the Earth-based supply grid for another year, possibly two. My current mental capacity has dropped below that of Ironhide and my emotional stability has been reduced to unacceptable levels for an officer."

Optimus nodded, considering. "Then those responsibilities will certainly remain yours. Who would you recommend as a temporary replacement as SIC?" He glanced at Ratchet, silently asking about mentioning the assignments they had discussed between themselves, things that Prowl could work on at his own pace that were not urgent. Ratchet nodded back.

Instead of answering Prowl looked at Jazz.

"Within six months," he answered softly.

Prowl nodded and settled, leaning against his mate as he pulled up the complex file of his last results. "While Jazz or Ultra Magnus are clear choices and would no doubt perform the duties well, I believe Blaster may be the best choice despite his relatively low rank. We are about to transition between an army at war to a civilian population attempting to rebuild. He has exceptional communication skills, the highest security clearance available, an organizational and multi-tasking capacity to rival my full tac-net, a good report with much of the crew, and most importantly, he still seems to have some understanding of what a civilian population needs. He should have a strong hand in the post-war effort if he does not lead it."

"I'll stand behind him." Jazz said, nodding to Optimus as he watched the Prime consider it. 

Optimus hummed softly as he thought it over, looking between his Second and Third in command and thinking of how long they had stood with him. Contemplating the idea of a different mecha in either of those positions and how odd it would be. But then he had to think of the crossroads they were coming up on, and the multitude of change there. Perhaps starting the change now will make the road smoother later.

"I will miss having you at my side, and look forward to having you back there." He finally said, optics showing the smile that his battle mask hid from the rest of those present in the room. "We will work on the details, and then approach Blaster. If you are agreeable, I would like you to be there when he is told, to know that you are in support of the choice as well."

"We will both be there," Prowl said firmly. "I regret that I will not be there for the end of the war as well, though I can not regret that the war will end without my supervision." There was a sub-harmonic in his voice that made Jazz tense, nearly vibrating with anger for a brief moment before they both settled.

There was a subtle nod from Prime, the frustration not going unnoticed. "I also have some projects I would like you to take on, ones that can be done at your leisure."

Prowl perked up, decidedly interested in any task that wasn't a direct reminder of what he was no longer capable of. "Of course, sir."

"I would like you to start planning the rebuilding of Cybertron, and for Jazz to help you." The smile was back. "And while you are at it, planning a place for you and Jazz and your creation, if you wish to return there."

Prowl cycled his optics in surprise. "Sir?"

"Contract whoever you want to help you, but everything needs to be planned from the beginning. Where to begin, priorities to various projects, the order in which things will be rebuilt. How the government structure will need to be reformed. Choose what you will, tackle it however you see fit. For at least a while a force will need to remain here on Earth, and that needs to be planned as well." Optimus said, throwing something out for Prowl to consider.

The Praxian nodded, his tac-net and built-in desire to plan and create order latching onto the project with a glee that wasn't natural for him and gradually turned into a grin. "Yes Sir."

::I think that look disturbs me more than when Jazz wears it,:: Ratchet commented privately.

::It does me we well, but at least he seems to be taking to the idea in a positive manner. :: Optimus agreed. ::And really, there are very few better suited to the job. Is there a reason to keep them here much longer?::

::No,:: Ratchet admitted. ::Much as I don't want him out of my sight yet.::

"Thanks doc-bot," Jazz grinned, gave the pair a visor wink and grabbed his mate's hand to drag him out of the medbay.

"There are orns I hate that mech," Ratchet sighed. "He has _no_ respect for privacy."

"But he is good for Prowl." Optimus had to chuckle as the pair vanished, sure that Jazz was taking his mate back to their quarters, and not sure he entirely wanted to know what Jazz had planned.

At least, not out loud.


	13. The Future is Now

Prowl sat in a quiet corner of the commissary/ rec-room/ general gathering place and watched mecha interact. While he said it was to help maintain order and ensure that neither side picked fights or was shorted energon, the truth was that over the last couple metacycles he was increasingly distressed by being alone. So when Jazz had to do something, Prowl made his way to the commissary, sipped on a ration, and watched former enemies try to play nice with each other.

Memories flickered through his idle processor of the shock many former Decepticons displayed when he came down so much harder on former Autobots over mutual scuffles. That shock often increased when he explained that the former Autobots _knew_ better and that he was aware of the cultural differences that made it more permissible for Decepticons to fight amongst themselves. So the former Decepticons were punished, and the former Autobots were punished more severely. His small smile turned mean, making a few mechs nearby uneasy, when he remembered the shock that he could tell when a fight was started by who, and he refused to punish those who were attacked.

For the time being, he wasn't about to let it be known that the small area of Praxus that they were rebuilding was as camera heavy as the Ark. It was a precaution that few knew about, based on the design that Red Alert had implemented in the Ark and monitored by a mecha almost as devoted to his duties as the Ark's security director.

The pattern of mecha in the room shifted again, Autobots leaving as some new Decepticons arrived to fuel, and Prowl's attention vaguely shifted to them, studying them with a deep sense of curiosity. Then a field brushed his own, extremely close, with a mirrored sense of curiosity with innocent undertones. Reflexively he reached towards it, trying to ID the owner as he glanced around to try and see the mecha so close.

Prowl's expression turned to a scowl when he couldn't see the owner of that field. His doorwings perked up, fanning out to try and capture any hint, even if it meant bumping into the mech with an unexpected shift. A field that close the mecha had to be practically against his plating.

Confusion flittered through the contact at Prowl's response, then other emotions. Each one was hesitant, as though the owner was not yet sure what it was doing. Affection. A feeling of safety and contentment. Warmth. More curiosity.

Very, very slowly, Prowl began to focus inward, inside his frame, into his own systems. He didn't know he was shaking, or that Thundercracker was attempting to get his attention. All he could do was _feel_ the reminder of his violation inside him that was no longer content to cripple him, drain his resources and make him useless to the point he was more liability than asset. All he could focus on was hate for the abomination that had taken everything he had been created to be from him.

Combat grade claws transformed and drove into his abdominals with the singular focus of ripping out the thing that had destroyed him.

Curiosity gave way to confusion, then absolute terror and fear that was spark deep even if it the one feeling it couldn't completely understand. It was bombarded by loathing founded in loss, humiliation and the end of proper functioning as Prowl tried to rip the sparkling pod out of himself. It was only Thundercracker's relative proximity and reflexes that saved both their lives.

The tangle of blue Seeker and black and white Praxian hit the floor and Prowl's rage was briefly refocused onto the mech pinning him down and shouting for someone to get Ratchet and Jazz.

Medic and mech were there in a klik, diving into the tangle of struggling mecha, Jazz trying desperately to calm his mate enough that the medic could sedate him without someone else getting injured or killed.

When Prowl stilled, his frame slack in stasis, Ratchet focused on Thundercracker's frame with a quick medical scan. "You're coming too."

The Seeker hesitated, ready to claim he could tend to it himself, but Ratchet's glare stopped him and he nodded. "I'll be..." he stopped when Skywarp appeared next to him. "Probably there before you."

Ratchet huffed as the pair vanished, then transformed so Jazz could load Prowl inside him.

Only now did the full level of Jazz's distress come through, the sight of his mate's torn frame from self inflicted wounds and the pure rage he had teeked when he had jumped into the scuffle shaking him to his very spark. "Good." He called up to Ratchet, his mate loaded and secured. He followed Ratchet through fairly empty, open streets. The city was being rebuilt for a population much, much higher than it currently supported and it showed. Jazz registered none of that. He could only wonder what had set his mate off. Never had Prowl given any hint of suicidal behavior. Depression, anger, frustration and everything else that was expected, but never an inclination to become violent.

Fixit was waiting for them at the small clinic that would grow into the hospital they had the space for and unloaded Prowl onto a hover gurney, exchanging rapid bursts of data with Ratchet as the older mech transformed and they took Prowl into a private room in the back of the clinic. Jazz followed closely, not willing to be parted from his mate and not planning to be until someone threw him out. He knew that Prowl had been stressed more lately as the carry progressed and the new spark continued to take its tolls on his energy and processing ability. Jazz had been trying to find things to keep Prowl busy, both for the Praxian's sake and his own.

Failure cut through his spark as his optics traveled over the torn frame again, stopping to rest on his mate's hands and the wicked battle claws tipping each finger. Weapons that Jazz had not seen since the last battle on Earth that Prowl had been in the front lines of, and had dared to hope might never grace his mate's frame again. They were covered in still wet energon, shining in the brightness of the medical lighting.

What made the sight even worse was knowing that it was Prowl's energon staining them.

Ratchet's snarling eased a bit of Jazz's processors, as was the way he casually pointed Fixit at Thundercracker when the Seeker walked in, sans wingmate. It couldn't be that serious if the old medic was acting like that.

"Jazz!" Ratchet snapped and databurst a location key. "At least be useful in your hovering and get an energon drip."

Worry over his mate's physical condition eased as Jazz jumped to obey, though it did little to ease his concern for the state of his mate's processor. The next two joors passed much the same way with Ratchet snapping orders and Jazz complying. He was almost startled when the medic finally released a deep vent of air.

"You clean him and yourself up," Ratchet huffed and walked away to clean up himself and check on Thundercracker.

Startled, Jazz moved to obey. As much as he didn't want to waste the time, he gave himself a quick wipe-down first. It would keep any transfer from his mate as he started a much more in depth cleaning on Prowl, mindful the recent repairs even if his mate was still sedated. He did jump when Ratchet cycled his vocalizer from near the room's door some time later.

"Normally the first question is whether you had any clue this was coming, but I know you better than that," Ratchet sighed. "Did you get anything from his field before I put him under?"

Jazz started to tremble so hard he stopped working, his own distress flaring brightly. "Horror. Rage. Disgust. Loss. Needing revenge. A desire to _kill_ like I've never felt from him before. He didn't stop clawing until I got my frame between his claws and him, and even then it was a near thing. Ratchet-" Jazz choked, shaking hand running over Prowl's helm. Never in his entire functioning had Jazz been at such a loss for words or action.

"I know," a strong hand settled on Jazz's shoulder as the medic's field worked to sooth him. "I anticipated he'd become depressed, possibly dangerously so, as this progressed, but nothing in his personality matrix or the last five metacycles gave me a hint he'd try something like this. I expected he'd go after Red first. He really hates the sparkling," he murmured, his tone full of grief that what should have been such a joyful event, a reason for their entire race to celebrate, was such a torture.

Jazz almost crumbled under his hand and at the touch of his field. "I don't know what to do." He whispered. "I know he's not processing right, normal. In the beginning...he asked me to help him raise it. I told him I would. I want to. But over time...he's changed. And now I don't know. I don't know what to do."

That was probably the hardest thing for Jazz to admit. His own mate lay before him, a mecha that he should know more about than anyone else. And Jazz couldn't find a way to help him.

"He's not processing right, but he wasn't when he asked you to help raise it either," Ratchet's tone was gentle. "Creator code, especially at first activation, is incredibly potent. I've seen some of the most violently reactive mecha tolerate everything from a young sparkling. It takes a very non-standard coding set not to respond correctly. Prowl's the poster child for non-standard coding. I know. I had to fix it enough times to keep him functional early on." He nudged Jazz to look him in the optics. "How much do you know about pre-programmed laws under Primes before Optimus?"

"Not much." Jazz admitted quietly. "I wasn't very old when the war started, and there weren't a lot of pre-progs in my areas. Most of those were law, and I avoided them as best I could."

"Then here are the relevant highlights," Ratchet settled his hip against the medberth. "Pre-progs are ordered by the government or a company, who pays for their creation. In exchange the pre-prog has a contract that governs every aspect of their existence until they buy it off. Something, I hate to say, almost none ever could. What the contract says varied by their owner. Enforcers were considered to be on duty 42/32/2304. If it wasn't allowed on duty, it wasn't allowed, except for the mandatory recharge period required to function."

"And Prowl was an Enforcer?" Jazz said, trying to process that. That his mate was one of the mecha he had once avoided and feared was processor stopping on one level. On another, he knew how well suited for it Prowl was, and that was after all of the changes that they must have made to him. "How does he even tolerate me?"

"Yes, one of the best precinct commanders they had if even half his record's to be believed," Ratchet cocked his helm. "Surely you hacked his files all the way to the bottom when you decided you wanted him."

Jazz shrugged a little. "I just knew I wanted him. What I saw told me he was way out of my league, so I kind of ignored it. I paid more attention to ways to get his attention without getting on his bad side. What he liked. What really got under his plating. And then after he accepted me _before_ didn't matter."

Ratchet nodded his understanding, even if it did surprise the pit out of him that Jazz wasn't a lot more cautious. "Anyway, Prowl went from Enforcer to serving the Army, a direct contract transfer from one owner to another." He paused, wondering how much he was going to have to spell out for the normally astute mech.

Jazz frowned. "So the Autobots own him?"

"Frame, software and spark. It doesn't matter that Prime would freak if he understood. It's hardwired into Prowl's most basic function protocols to actively serve if he's not recharging," he nodded. "He's not a workaholic, not for his type. He accepted my orders as best he could, but taking an extra three joors an orn off were the most I could justify over his upgraded tac-net." Ratchet paused and considered Jazz evenly. "You really have no idea how many core level protocols he had to break to even realize you wanted to be more than a friend, do you? Interfacing is a crime until his contract has been bought out under laws that he was created under."

"No." Jazz admitted, shaken even more than he had been, stress in every line of his frame and filtering through his field once more. "Why didn't he _tell_ me?"

The idea of the stress it must have placed his mate under, when all Jazz had wanted was to make Prowl happy, to see him smile, was one more blow to his already distressed spark.

"He assumed you knew," Ratchet answered softly. "He assumed you would have hacked access to his full records, seen his status, understood what it meant. Sometimes your reputation for getting into everything and knowing all about the different subcultures and ways mecha think ... well, as he put it, the odds were very low you hadn't and didn't." He huffed a deep sigh. "Maybe a few things make more sense now?"

"Just as many things as it makes more confusing." Jazz replied, angry with himself for what surely had to be his greatest failure. He had only seen what _he_ had wanted. He had thought Prowl his greatest success. Now he was painfully learning the truth. "All I've ever done is cause him trouble."

He got a wrench to the helm for it. "You taught him that good emotions _exist_. You taught him that there was something beyond service. You got him to believe that there are mecha that care about _him_ and not just see him as a tool. Don't you think he would have sent you packing in no uncertain terms if he didn't want you around? You're a stubborn mech Jazz, but Ultra Magnus has you beat six ways to the Core and Prowl got rid of _him_."

Jazz vented softly, hand stroking gently along Prowl's helm. "I love him." He informed Ratchet quietly, sure of this fact beyond any doubt.

"He loves you, deeply enough he's all but dismantled his compliance coding on his own," Ratchet huffed. "He's a mess though, and this ... I'm not sure how to even describe how much of an act of treason being a creator is to his core code. If he was a normal mech the creator code they installed would have worked just fine. If he'd bought his contract off it would have been fine. If Prime had said this should happen he'd have been unhappy but fine. But he'd got three sets of core-level coding all telling him contradictory things. I just wish I knew what set him off at that moment. Prowl's not the type to make mistakes like that. If he'd planned to get rid of it, it would have deactivated long before anyone knew. No, this was spur of the moment, and I'm not sure if he should wake up long enough to explain."

"Thundercracker doesn't have any idea what might have set him off?" Jazz asked, still stroking his mate's frame gently.

"Nothing that makes sense," Ratchet grumbled. "Said he started looking around, then flaring his wings like he was trying to find a cloaked Mirage. Then he got a horrified expression and started tearing into himself."

"Is there any danger? How long would you leave him under?" The idea of spending any length of time without his mate was painful, but a few metacycles was nothing if it was in Prowl's best interest.

"Depends on what went wrong," Ratchet shrugged. "The top level scan didn't reveal much. I haven't gone in and hacked his memory files yet."

"So you'll at least keep him under until then." Jazz concluded.

"A couple orns," Ratchet nodded. "Why?" he regarded Jazz suspiciously.

"Mostly figuring out where I am going to be recharging and spending my free time for a while." Jazz said with a smile, though under it was a layer of steel that that subject was not open to discussion, Ratchet's domain or not. Not that Ratchet had actually denied him the right to be at Prowl's side in a long time. "And it gives me time to go see Prime and get the matter of this contract sorted out." He added, seemingly as an afterthought.

"Jazz, not that I approve of the contracts or the way they did things, but Prowl's been able to buy his off for a long time now. Maybe there's a reason he hasn't." Ratchet suggested quietly.

"Why? Why wouldn't he?" Jazz demanded. "And if it is part of what drove him to _that_!" Motion took in the fresh repairs across Prowl's mid section, the memory of them still fresh in Jazz's processor.

"I don't know. I never asked," Ratchet admitted. "But maybe you should. You know even better than I do that he has a reason for everything he does."

* * *

"Ready?" Ratchet focused on Jazz two orns later. "There's no way I can let him be mobile after what I saw, but he can be aware long enough to settle things with you."

Jazz nodded, moving closer and unconsciously placing himself in a position to prevent Prowl from hurting himself again, restrained or not. He was deeply shaken after what Ratchet had told him, and still trying to process it all, truth be told. But the sooner they get this out of the way, the sooner they could settle into something resembling a routine, order. Something they all needed.

The medic nodded and began the sequence to bring Prowl out of stasis in a slow, controlled manner so he wouldn't panic at the restraints. He'd be able to teek and ID both mechs there long before he was in control of his frame. Jazz listened to the sounds of his mate starting to boot, focusing his own energy on being calm, bringing all of the love he felt for his mate to the surface for Prowl to wake to.

He felt it the moment Prowl's spark and awareness linked up. His field went from the smooth flatness of need recharge-stasis to the chaotic jumble that was suited to how he went down. Despite it all, Jazz's field was greeted with warmth, love and desire that shoved everything else out of the way as ice blue optics lit.

"Sorry," Prowl mumbled, helm lolling to the side to face him.

"I'm the one that is, should be, sorry love. About so many things." Jazz murmured as he leaned in to kiss his mate, the motion tender and gentle and welcomed warmly by his mate.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Prowl insisted, his field smoothing significantly as Jazz's close proximity. "I'm the one who can't do what has been demanded of me."

"Things that never should have been demanded of you. That may not have been if I had done my job." Jazz argued, failure creeping into his field. Failure to protect his mate because he had been so blinded by what he wanted, and so arrogantly sure that what he was doing was right. "I never knew how much you were fighting yourself, hurting, because of me."

A bewildered look crossed Prowl's features and flooded his field before he connected the dots and his optics brightened in surprise. "I never ... Jazz, it was the best option, leaving my contract in place. I have _chosen_ to remain bound by it since a century after we met."

"Why?" It was all Jazz could manage at the moment. There was no resentment of Prowl or his choices, only self anger in the question.

"Love, the Autobots _had_ to win the war," Prowl said gently. "They couldn't afford to lose me for the time it would take to purge the compliance code, rebuild my priority trees and reassess my function."

Jazz's helm fell to rest against Prowl's, his field revealing just how much he needed the intimate contact. "And now?"

"Now I have alien code that's overridden or completely overwritten significant portions of my coding," Prowl said quietly, a mixture of shame and frustration weaving into his field. "My contract is likely the only thing that kept either of us alive. I'm not allowed suicide no matter how worthless I feel. Not unless my commander tells me to."

Jazz vented softly, hand reaching out to take Prowl's carefully around the battle claws that tipped each digit. Stripped of the energon, they gleamed in the light, and a small shudder went through Jazz at how close Prowl had come to ending the functioning of the spark he carried and possibly his own, code or not.

"Ratchet is going to put you back under for a while." He finally said, avoiding the why.

"He doesn't have a choice," Prowl murmured, sadness at leaving Jazz alone for the remaining three metacycles mingling with intense relief at not needing to be aware of the rest of his degradation. "Medical protocols demand that a mech who's a danger to himself remain either in stasis or under constant supervision of a trained processor doctor."

"I know." Jazz kissed him again. "I'm glad he is. When you wake ... will you let me pay off the contract? Take the time to decide what you want- what will make you happy?"

His spark ached to do this for his mate. The mech that owned his spark. But he had been wrong, so wrong, for so long, that he had to ask. He felt Prowl hesitate, running some calculations and just feeling it out.

"I would prefer to buy it myself. I have the funds saved up," Prowl murmured. "I know what you intended, love, but if you buy it you would own it, not me."

"A gift for you, for being wrong for so long." Jazz offered. "You, able to decide what you want. Go back to what you were. Stay with me. Whatever will make you happy, please your spark and code."

Prowl had a slightly lost look for a moment.

"I'll leave it alone, if that is your wish." He added very softly, mistaking the reaction for displeasure.

"You would give me my contract?" Prowl asked, requiring clarification as his processors worked through the legalities of such an action, and struggled to work at all.

"Of course." Jazz said, optics flaring in his own moment of shock. "Why...."

"It's just ... not normal," Prowl struggled to explain, to sooth his mate despite his own confusion and the burning knowledge that he shouldn't find this at all confusing.

"If it's not legal, it will be _very_ soon," Ratchet huffed. "Prime's going to freak out badly enough just finding out you're under that kind of contract."

Prowl went still again, focused inward as he reviewed the whys, needs and rewards for each path. Each would end the same: he would own himself. He would be what mecha like Jazz had always been, at least legally and by absence of compliance coding.

If he insisted on buying himself directly, it would be much as he had long planned. If he allowed Jazz to ... would he not still _feel_ indebted to this mech? Prowl had spend his entire existence in service to the government, his owner. He wasn't sure he even knew how to exist without that structure around him to guide him. Jazz's intentions were from the spark, but the risk was so terribly high Prowl would transfer himself and never be able to make the break he needed to to become a free mech, what Jazz wanted.

Instead of trying to articulate himself, a skill he was growing ever more doubtful of, he simply spiraled open a dataport, silently asking Jazz to connect.

Jazz complied without a moment of hesitation, wanting and needing to understand everything. As soon as the data handshake was completed and Jazz's identity confirmed, Prowl opened up the memory file that contained all his analyzing of the situation and options. It gave Jazz a first-hand look at just how much Prowl was struggling with what he knew he should be able to do and what he was currently capable of. Of just how destructive it was to his sense of self, of worth, of his very right to the rations he consumed.

It was an agonizing moment, even as he saw that Prowl was still so much faster, smarter and more able to administer a government than anyone else Jazz had ever met. It still soothed Jazz's grief at having his mate in stasis. Anything that took that kind of self-hatred away was a good thing.

The key point of Prowl's analysis was much more useful though, at least in the long run. Long accustomed to untangling Prowl's hodgepodge understanding of his own emotions as viewed through the tac-net that normally ruled Prowl's existence, the results were far more clear to Jazz than they were to Prowl.

_I need to buy myself to have no doubt, no lingering code fragments._

_I want to be sure when I say I love you, that it is only my free will saying it._

Love surged across the connection and flared in Jazz's field. Understanding, and a willingness to give Prowl everything he needed. Relief, gratitude and determination to hurt Jazz as little as possible during the process washed back and Prowl relaxed.

~I love you. And I will be here when you wake. And I will wait as long as it takes for you to sort out what you need to, and decide what you want after you have freed yourself.~ Jazz swore.

~I know I love you,~ Prowl assured him. ~I love you against all the objections the coding gives. I'm sure. I want to remain sure.~

Jazz nodded, sending another pulse of love across the connection before unplugging. He leaned down, claiming one last kiss, this one far more passionate and less chaste than the first and returned just as ardently as Prowl could strapped to the berth.

"For you to remember me by." He whispered as he backed away to let Ratchet in.

Prowl hummed, his field warm and purring from the contact and comfort the hardline exchange had given him before he shut down to the lack of awareness that was stasis.

"Want to talk to Prime with me?" Ratchet glanced at Jazz.

"Yeah." Jazz sighed, stroking Prowl's helm gently. "Wanna get this cleared up, and now is as good of a time as any."

"Agreed," Ratchet nodded, turning to leave. "Are you going to buy his contract?"

"No, as much as I want to, it is something that he needs to do for himself." Jazz said, a sad smile crossing his lips. 

He understood now.

And while it didn't make it any easier to accept, it was what his love wanted. Needed. And that alone was worth anything Jazz had to endure.

"I am going to speak to Prime though, and hope that Prowl will do it as soon as he wakes."

"If he doesn't, he's going to have a very unhappy commander," Ratchet chuckled darkly. "I'm sure you can guess just how well learning what a 'contract' means for a pre-programmed mecha is going to go over."

"About as happy as I am realizing that Prowl is bound by one." Jazz growled, allowing himself a final touch. "You gonna warn him we're coming?"

"Already did," Ratchet responded as they left the clinic and transformed for the short drive to the space laid out for the government buildings, which currently housed only one small, simple square. Prime had insisted that the center of government should be no better than the average mecha had. It was an equalizer, a symbol that things were going to be different. That the mecha that led them were, for the most part, just mecha. Subject to the same rules and no better than those they governed.

Optimus himself was there to greet them at the door when they arrived. "Ratchet. Jazz." He said as he waved them in, and then led the way to the room that served as his office. "I heard about Prowl. How is he?" He asked as soon as the door was closed.

Two chairs were already arranged for his guests, and energon at hand for all three.

"Somewhere between totally FUBARed and relieved that he finally doesn't have to _live_ through what the sparkling is doing to him," Ratchet said with a huff as he sank down hard. "Stubborn aft mech. Should have just asked to be in stasis for the carry, but nooo, he had to be all dramatic about it."

"We all know he's not thinking right. The master planner was probably so convinced that we couldn't function without him that it never occurred to him." Jazz said, dropping into the indicated seat and grabbing the energon he already knew was for him. He watched Optimus the whole time, gauging the other's reaction to the news.

"I am glad that he and the sparkling survived. For him to have succeeded in ending it would have been very damaging to morale across the board." The Prime vented softly, optics flickering. "I am sorry that it has caused him such distress though. Did you at least discover what set him off?"

"Yeah, he felt the sparkling's field for the first time." Ratchet shuttered his optics briefly. "I really wish they'd picked a mech better suited psychologically for the drain. It'd mean next to nothing to most, but Prowl's systems are pushed to their absolute limit just maintaining what he perceives as his baseline, the drops are painfully noticeable. That and his base coding just about _freaked_ when it figured out he couldn't do what he's used to. But that's not really why we're here. Prowl's under contract and you need to understand what that means now that he's planning to buy it."

Optimus frowned, the expression clear in his optics to those who knew him, even if it was still hidden from view. "I was going to ask if it was a serious issue, but I know that you would not be here if it was not."

Ratchet huffed, gave Jazz a sidelong look, and focused on their leader. "A pre-programmed mech begins their existence under contract to whoever paid for their construction and sparking. Usually that was the government, a major corporation or a noble house. As an Enforcer, Prowl was created at the expense of the Praxian government. Until he paid off the cost of his contract, he _belonged_ to them. When he transferred to the Army under Sentinel, the Army had to buy his contract from the Praxian government. It was a common thing back then, just part of the administrative shuffle. But it also means that you, as the final authority on everything right now, own that contract."

For a nanoklik Optimus was still, processing that. Then he started to rub his helm, venting heavily. "Primus knows that he has paid it off in service many times over. I will have it nullified."

"No you won't." Jazz countered, optics blazing. "You'll accept his credits gracefully when Prowl comes to pay it off, do whatever song and dance is needed to make it formal and right and whatever, and then it can be forgotten."

Optimus stared at Jazz, started at the sudden aggression from the mecha that he considered a friend, one of only a few he still could any more.

"Are you going to tell me why?" Optimus eventually asked.

"He has to do it for himself." Jazz answered, deflating a little at the apparent acceptance. "He won't even let me do it for him." Jazz added softly.

Optimus glanced at Ratchet, who looked equally resigned. "It's a closure thing, I expect. It's been a fundamental part of his code and being for his entire existence. I'll need several orns to scrub the coding out, and likely need both Jazz and Brainstorm's assistance. I'm genuinely not that sure what he's going to be like with it gone."

Warm blue optics narrowed. "This is more than a simple contract then. This was backed up by coding. Slave coding."

Ratchet sighed and took a slug of energon. "It wasn't called that and it's written a bit differently for pre-programmed mecha like Prowl, but essentially yes."

A visible ripple of anger passed through Jazz's frame, accented by the large gulp of energon he chased it with. He was both soothed and riled by the angry rumble of Optimus' engine.

"Just how many mecha still have this coding?" Optimus demanded.

"Honestly, I don't know," Ratchet grumbled. "Of the Autobots, most had it wiped when they joined, though very few brought it up themselves. I haven't gotten many former Cons to let me deep enough to know, and they sure as blazes aren't telling. Ironhide has it and doesn't want it removed. I expect there are still a few others. Every pre-programmed mecha started existence with some version installed."

"As much as I dislike the idea of mecha under such influence, we can't force anyone to have it removed if they do not wish it." He hummed softly, looking between Jazz and Ratchet. "Prowl does wish it removed though?"

Jazz nodded. "Yes, he plans to. He's been preparing to buy his contract since early in the war. I didn't get all of it, but I think he's been waiting for the war to end, be sure it's ended and he has however much time he thinks he needs to sort out existing without it. Master planner and all. He couldn't make himself buy the contract out when he believed he was still badly needed. He was too."

"We certainly wouldn't have won without him. At least not and be able to call it winning." Optimus sighed. "I will find out what is involved in having it paid off, and I will accept his credits when he comes. Can we have someone look into whatever arrangements will need to be made to allow him the time he needs to sort things out?"

"Thundercracker pretty much sums that one up," Ratchet grumbled. "Ultra Magnus if the Seeker gets in over his helm. Which is how things are going to run for the next three metacycles anyway. And that's a minimum. He's going to be in stasis until the sparkling has finished separating and under medical guard until I'm sure all the side effects of the carry are cleared and he's processing at least somewhat rationally again."

"Mirage is good too," Jazz added quietly. "He was raised to be a House's organizer. The war fragged him pretty good, but he's still got a natural bent for seeing how to make things work. It's why I've kept him my SIC for so long even thought he's a spy and not saboteur."

"Then I will leave all of that up to." Optimus said. "You know what will make Prowl feel most at ease that things are being taken care of-" He focused on Jazz, who nodded, "-And you will want to the primary care giver in sorting his processor out, I'm sure." He finished looked at Ratchet.

"Damn right," the medic rumbled.

"If there is anything else I can add to helping Prowl, tell me. He has done much and asked for little." Optimus concluded.

"We will," Ratchet promised, finishing the last of his energon. "I recommend being ready to mediate a multi-way debate for who gets to raise the sparkling if he doesn't bond with it once it's no longer a drain on his tac-net's power. I've already had Thundercracker, Bluestreak and Mirage offer, and Prowl's mentioned Red." He glanced at Jazz. "I hope it doesn't come to that, but it's better to be ready. A sparkling needs to bond with a creator quickly."

Jazz nodded, mute for a moment as his field pulled in, rippled, and relaxed back again, the tension almost under control.

"Do you have a recommendation for who might be best suited to raise the sparkling? In the sparkling's best interest." Optimus asked, focusing on Ratchet for the moment. "The last thing I want is for this to turn political and have our first hope for the future hurt because of it."

"The 'fight', such as it might be, will be between Bluestreak, whose claim is based on the sparkling being Praxian, and Red and Inferno, who are going to have to have a hand in things after the mechling upgrades and Prowl is partial to in a decidedly vindictive way. Thundercracker and Mirage's offers were both of the 'if you don't have anyone better' variety." Ratchet sighed deeply and relaxed into the chair. "Honestly, If Jazz and Prowl don't raise it, I think you should."

"Me?" Optimus said, staring at the medic as he tried to process a plausible reason for the suggestion.

"You're arguably the most nurturing mecha I know, calm, soothing, steady," Ratchet listed. "That sparkling was fully aware that its carrier was trying to kill it. Its first effort to contact the mech that should have nurtured it was met with horror, disgust and violence. It will be traumatized by it, even if Prowl accepts it after it separates. Whoever raises it needs to be steady, level and warm. It doesn't hurt politically and socially to show you as a creator and caretaker of our most helpless member. It's much more suited to the title of Prime too, as the highest of the High Priests."

Optimus sighed, not able to find any argument against Ratchet's reasoning, and able to see the positives from multiple angles. It would certainly be a strong statement, and in theory a safe and protective environment. Primus knew Elita would be pleased with the idea, whatever she might grouch in public.

"And what are your feelings on the matter?" Optimus asked as he finally focused on Jazz, the flutter in the smaller mech's field from earlier not going unnoticed.

"It will be Prowl's choice." Jazz finally answered, the response a struggle. "I will support him in whatever future he chooses for the sparkling. And for us."

"If it comes down to such a choice, know that you will always be welcome to spend time with the sparkling," Optimus said gently. "So long as Elita agrees, I'd ask for your input on major decisions as well. This is your creation, even if you can not be its primary caretaker you can be a legal guardian."

Jazz visor flared in surprise, and true warmth spread through his field. "Thank you." The offer meant more than he could explain, and really wasn't inclined to try at the moment.

"You are welcome," Prime reached out to clasp his shoulder. "With all the focus on Prowl, I think how difficult this has been for you has been overlooked too much. You are a good mate, and I believe you would be an excellent creator. You care too much not to be."

"No arguments there, once he lets someone in at least," Ratchet chuckled. "Never really thought you'd be the dedicated creator type, but you're showing all the signs of strong and uncorrupted creator coding."

Jazz shrunk in on himself a little, though the action had distinct flavor of embarrassment at the praise, and revealed that his actions were something not many outside of the small circle of mecha present would have been witness too.

"It might be one of the few things that has been left alone." He finally confessed, finishing off his energon in a last single gulp.

"Hopefully that holds true for most mecha," Optimus smiled behind his mask. "It would be wonderful to have more sparklings around."

"Yes." Both Ratchet and Jazz agreed. They had fought to create a better way of life. The true benefit of their actions would be for those who came after them.

"Now," Optimus settled back down. "Please tell me there is good news, or at least amusing news, since we last spoke."

Jazz stood and went to get another round of energon as Ratchet started in on an amusing accident that was more embarrassing than actual injury to the mecha involved that he had to see to the orn before.


	14. Plans for the Future

Jazz sighed, snuggling against his mate, helm resting over Prowl's spark as one hand stroked over the Praxian's frame and the alterations there, changes to accommodate the frame for the new spark. His field reached out, feeling the levelness of his mate. It hurt not having Prowl with him, but the knowledge that his mate was well and safe soothed his own distress.

A field reached, brushing against his, and Jazz smiled as he reached back. It had taken several orns for the sparkling to reach out again, field fearful and cautious when it touched his for the first time. It had eased some when it encountered welcome this time, warmth, and curiosity to match its own.

Wonder flared in Jazz's spark at the playful push that shoved at him this time. That was a new development, just the last few orns. Pushing and retreating, teasing at him as he responded in kind. He could already tell that this one was going to be a handful. He could feel the intelligence, how quickly the new spark picked up on things and made connections. The first time it had gone quiet when another field had come up had been startling, drawing away but trying to stay in contact with Jazz.

Jazz wasn't sure that he was doing the right thing, but the drive to nurture and protect this new life was too deep, too strong, to ignore. He couldn't help himself, and a selfish part of him didn't want to resist. So all that was left was to pray that this was right. It helped that Ratchet, who knew as much about sparklings as anyone alive, encouraged him to play with the newspark, even as he warned against forming too strong an attachment.

"How is the newspark doing?" Ratchet's low pitched rumble asked from far enough away to not startle Jazz too badly.

"Good." Jazz's visor grew bright, the smile on his face full of warm affection. "He's starting to _play_ Ratchet. It's just emotions, fields, but..." His voice trailed off in wonder as the sparkling's energy pushed at him, demanding his attention.

"He's going to be an energetic one," the medic chuckled and sat down nearby, content to simply be in the presence of joy, wonder and innocent playfulness for a while. "I was worried that he'd be seriously damaged by that first encounter. Sounds like he's bouncing back reasonably well. You're doing him a lot of good playing with him, and just being here."

"He was afraid." Jazz admitted. "Not any more. Not even of Prowl, when I tried to offer that sense of him."

"That's better than I expected," Ratchet smiled with real pleasure. "Have you thought of a designation?"

"Played around with several for a while. But the way he is." Jazz smiled as the sparkling's field leveled, settling down to rest and snuggling into the warmth and safety Jazz offered. "Flash."

"It's a good one," Ratchet chuckled and patted Jazz on the shoulder as he stood to leave. "Wouldn't be surprised if he liked racing as much as you and Prowl do, even if he insists on calling what he does a pursuit."

"Or refuses to admit that I let him catch me." Jazz said, chuckling himself as he shifted to reach for a cloth to wipe his mate's frame down.

"Enforcer pride," Ratchet winked at Jazz and left him to tend to his mate and provide a warm safety for the sparkling that would emerge in a metacycle.

* * *

His mate's frame pristine and the sparkling settled, Jazz contemplated just climbing up on the berth and settling down to recharge. It was a little early, but with him able to pick his own joors of work, it mattered little when he was there so long as things were done. He liked the peace and quiet, holding his mate and their creation- he knew he shouldn't, but he could help but consider it theirs- and simply thinking and resting.

"Jazz?" the familiar and friendly voice of Bluestreak interrupted his contemplations of recharge as the gray mech poked his helm into the room, not daring the risk of Ratchet's wrath by going any further in without a direct invitation.

"Yeah Bluestreak?" Jazz said, offering the Praxian a friendly smile that welcomed him into the room.

"How're Prowl and the sparkling doing?" Bluestreak asked conversationally. "I miss having Prowl around. I mean, sure Thundercracker and Mirage are doing a great job running things, but they're not Prowl. It seems like things ran a little more smoothly when he did it. He's...."

"That is because Prowl is all-knowing." Jazz said with good humor as he settled in the chair by the berth. "They are both well, from what I can sense and Ratchet says."

"It must be hard, having him here but not here for so long. I never thought three metacycles was that long until I realized that it's only two-thirds over now and if feels like forever waiting to see the sparkling." Bluestreak chatted excitedly at the prospect. "Can you tell anything about him yet?"

"He's smart, quick, and very playful." Jazz said, affection and pride creeping into his voice as he answered, one hand reaching out to stroke Prowl's frame.

"Ohhh, that is so cool that you can feel him. Has ... has Prowl calmed down?" Bluestreak asked, shifted a bit. "I mean, obviously he's not all okay cause he's still in stasis and all, but that's just because the drain on his tac-net is too disturbing for him, right? I mean, he doesn't really hate the sparkling does he? I heard Thundercracker talking about what Prowl was like when he tried to stop him and I think it scared him. Well, not like a Seeker really gets scared, but you know what I mean. I bothered him like it wasn't going to go away."

Jazz hesitated, hand stroking over his mate as he considered his answer very carefully. It hurt, the way that Bluestreak was picking at Jazz's own fears. "He chose to go into stasis. How he will be when he wakes and everything is fully functioning again remains to be seen."

It was almost a non-answer, but it was all that Jazz could bring himself to offer at the moment.

"If you ever need someone ... he _is_ Praxian," Bluestreak stumbled with his words. "I was sparked and raised to be a caretaker. I probably know more than Ratchet does about raising and caring for sparklings and younglings when they aren't seriously damaged. I love them too, more than anything. It's what my original function was all about, the little ones. I just want him to have a good home and everything...."

It took Jazz a klik to sort through the jumble of words delivered far too rapidly, and he smiled. "You're offering to take him, if Prowl won't?"

The rapid, eager nod came fast. "Or just watch him for a while. A lot of new creators find the demands of a sparkling too much. It's totally normal to want a break once in a while. But yes, I'd love to have a sparkling. Smokey thinks I'm too young, but I'm not that young. I wasn't even before everything went to the Pit. Because of what I was supposed to be I've got code that makes me come across as young so I can relate to the younglings better."

"I'll remember, and pass your offer along. Optimus and Elita may take him, if Prowl ends up rejecting him when he wakes." Jazz informed him, warmed by the offer and the eagerness of Praxian standing before him.

"I hope he doesn't, because you love them both, but he really should be raised Praxian," Bluestreak wavered, his core coding in conflict between 'Praxians should be raised by a Praxian' and 'Prime is the best of all', leaving him uncertain. "Well, my offer applies to whoever raises him, and maybe, if I do a good job, you can talk to Smokey about laying off on my age non-issue? Maybe then I can have one of my own, 'cause Smokey scared them a lot. It's really annoying...."

Jazz laughed. "I back you up, if you want to argue your case to him again. Why does it matter what he thinks though?" Jazz asked, digging a little deeper in hopes of a juicy bit of gossip.

Bluestreak huffed. "It matters because whatever he said to Red and Inferno right after it came out that they can make sparklings with a normal mecha has them both scared to so much as be seen with me. It's not like Red ever was, but Inferno was always nice and he'd listen to me and sometimes even talk back and I know they're on Earth but I kinda miss them and I _know_ Smokey had something to do with how skittish they are around me now. Inferno admitted it. He just wouldn't say why, exactly, but I need somebody to get Smokey to back off and take back whatever he said to them because I want a sparkling of my own soon."

Jazz hummed. "Talk to Ratchet. He'll straighten it out. And even Smokescreen won't argue with him. Not if he wants to be repaired in a timely manner." He finally suggested.

It would also give Ratchet a chance to do an evaluation of the Praxian's fitness as a creator, and maybe get him eligible for that list of willing nests that was being compiled.

"Okay I will, thanks Jazz. I'm sure Ratchet knows just how old I am. My records got zapped with everything else, but my ID can let him look up the vorn at least. I hope Prowl warms up to ... does he have a designation yet?" Bluestreak asked eagerly, all but vibrating with excitement over anything sparkling-related. "A designation is so important, it shapes how the sparkling thinks of himself and...."

Jazz could only laugh and grinned at the former gunner's enthusiasm and boundless joy when it came to all things sparkling. "Flash." He answered as he opened a comm line to Ratchet, pinging a request for attention but flagging it as nothing urgent.

"That's a nice designation. Maybe a racer. Not like Blurr, probably, but you never know. Do you have any plans for what he might become?"

"Wait and see what his spark wants to be." Jazz laughed. That was what he, they all, had fought for, after all.

"Oh, that is _so_ cool," Bluestreak was literally bouncing on his pedes with a grin fit to split his faceplates and optics so bright they'd nearly gone white. His field flared, bright and warm and happy in a way that none of the war-ravaged mecha on either side expected to teek again. "Only the very best creators did that. Almost everyone had some plans, even if it was just a hope for help in the family function. But I can see you not being so keen on that...."

::What is it?:: Ratchet's ping back was relatively calm.

::Bluestreak stopped in for a visit. I was wondering if it would be good for Flash to let him come closer, and if Prowl was deep enough in stasis to not be bothered.:: Jazz replied.

::Definitely, it would be good for them both, and yes, Prowl's deep enough he won't be at all aware of it,:: Ratchet replied. ::Let me know when you need a rescue. Mech with his coding will never leave a sparkling without a firm hand taking him elsewhere.::

::Give it a klik or two and I think everyone but Blue will be ready for a break.:: Jazz answered, comm going quiet as his attention shifted.

"Would you like to come closer and teek for yourself?" He offered with a smile. "Field only, but he's been very curious lately. Someone new will give him something new to think about."

"I can? Oh yes!" Bluestreak bounded over. 

Jazz actually cycled his optics in surprise when he teeked something click into place in Bluestreak through his field. It went from wildly excited to calm, warm and welcoming from one sparkpulse to the next right along with the rest of Bluestreak's frame. After that processed he watched, extending his field just far enough to catch the edge of Bluestreak's field and how Flash's was reacting, curious but not wanting to interfere.

There was an initial moment of surprise from the new spark at the contact, a drawing back cautiously until he was sure that he was welcome. Despite being told that Flash couldn't hear him, Bluestreak still trilled and hummed, lowering himself slightly to look less intimidating tall and poured all the reassurance and welcome he could into his field.

Jazz smiled as he teeked the sparkling respond, pushing cautiously against Bluestreak's field. Excitement and happiness rippled in waves from Flash as his advance was welcomed and encouraged, caution changing to curiosity as he poked at this new thing.

Bluestreak bubbled with excited pleasure, though he kept it relatively mute beyond the near bumblebee speed quivering of his doorwings. He pushed back with his field gently, pouring love and excitement to meet Flash through it.

Similar emotions answered, morphing until they mimicked Bluestreak's, then a new feeling of looking for approval, an emotion that Bluestreak quickly offered in abundance, along with delight. Jazz teeked the exchange for a couple more kliks before he heard the door open again.

"Bluestreak, the sparkling needs to rest, and so does Jazz," Ratchet's voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Oh! I'm sorry," the Praxian startled. He pushed one more feeling of love across his field and then an apology for needing to leave and hurried to join Ratchet.

"Thanks for stopping by Blue." Jazz called after him.


	15. Recovery, or Not

Prowl's boot up was a crawl through every single system, protocol and program he had in excruciating detail as it logged first all the things that had happened while he was in stasis, a report that left his vents clicking faintly in intense distress, then the much more calming report of where his systems were at now. It still wasn't _good_ by any means, but two facts were all that really mattered to Prowl.

His tac-net was up to 89.2% operational capacity and the _thing_ inside him that had crippled him so completely was gone. His frame still needed to do some work to disassemble the small factory it had built inside him and he'd need to keep physical activity limited for at least a decaorn, but he could _think_.

Thank Primus he could _think_ again.

His frame ached; he had the processor ache of the century trying to process three metacycles of backlog data as rapidly as possible, but it was the rapidly fluctuating field of his mate that dragged his attention outside his frame.

Ice blue optics lit slowly and focused on Jazz.

"Love." Jazz asked, field brushing against Prowl as his mate tried to keep it under control. But the underlying base that was not shifting was love and hope as Jazz looked down at him. "Prowl?"

"Jazz," Prowl tried to express his pleasure and relief at seeing his mate and at feeling almost normal again. He would have reached up but he was still secured to the berth.

Jazz leaned down, kissing his mate tenderly. "How do you feel love?"

"Like I had the worst glitch crash in history," Prowl murmured as he tried to kiss back and whined slightly when the restraints prevented him from moving. "Much better than I remember though. Almost normal."

Jazz pulled back enough to look over his shoulder, silently asking for permission to loosen the restraints. Ratchet nodded easily from near the door where he was holding the clean and curious little unarmored protoform of Flash. Jazz removed the restraints on Prowl's arms and gathered him close, field wrapping around the Praxian's in relief. "Missed you while you were sleeping." Jazz murmured as unsteady arms wrapped around him and held him as tightly as Prowl was able.

"I am sorry love," Prowl whispered, meaning it on so many levels.

"There is nothing to be sorry for." Jazz smiled as he held Prowl, warm and calming some now that his mate was back in his arms. "You survived, and you are mending. That is what is important."

Prowl was willing to simply nod and accept the assurances. It was Jazz that mattered to him. Jazz and Prime.

A long, low shudder and moan escaped Prowl as he realized what he'd just thought. He burrowed into his mate's embrace further and tried to hold the sob of relief back, though he let his field go. His control might not be completely up to par yet, but his priority trees, at least the major branches, were back to what they should read.

Jazz stroked his mate's helm and back gently, soothing him and whispering softly in comfort and support. He was aware of Flash squirming like crazy in Ratchet's arms.

The medic cycled his vocalizer to get Jazz's attention. "Ready?"

Jazz nodded, nuzzling Prowl up into a kiss. "There is someone who would like to meet you love." He said softly as the kiss ended and he straightened, turning to go take the struggling sparkling from Ratchet.

"Be good." Jazz ordered as he took Flash into his arms, the tiny sparkling fitting against his frame easily. Bright blue optics focused on Jazz for a moment, accenting the strong sense of promise in the intense field, before turning to look at Prowl. "Creator?" A small voice asked quietly, hopefully.

Prowl froze, his hands halfway done with unsecuring his legs and simply stared. His field recoiled from the curious one, though not nearly as violently as before. Ice blue optics looked at Jazz. "We might wish to discuss this in private."

Flash cringed against Jazz, looking instinctively to the one he knew as safety with Prowl's reaction, and found instant comfort there. "Go with Ratchet for a bit. I'll come find you." Jazz promised, carrying the sparkling back to the medic and handing him over once more.

"Be good." Flash echoed, looking distinctly like he didn't want to but would anyway. Bright blue optics looked past Jazz to Prowl, who'd gone back to freeing himself. "Be good." He promised once more, clearly trying. Ratchet did his best to comfort the distraught sparkling as he left the mates to work out how this was going to work in private.

"I will not raise it," Prowl said firmly. "However, I do not have an issue with you raising it if you wish."

Jazz did his best to mask the distress flooding his spark, trying to force his spark to see and accept logic it did not want. "That wouldn't be fair to Flash. Or you."

"You already love ... Flash," Prowl forced himself to say the designation. "It is only a couple centuries before he will be mature enough to interact with me. We have been separated far longer for missions."

"Prime and Elita will care for him well, and with Bluestreak to help them. He deserves that. You can buy out your contract, and we can start building." Jazz said, painting a world and future for himself where he had his mate, and telling his spark that it the best choice.

A few centuries for a sparkling, or a mate for the rest of his functioning.

Prowl reached out to draw Jazz against himself and held on tightly. "Love, I'm not going to leave you if you wish to raise him. I just won't be in our quarters. But Prime ... he is all a creator could hope to be."

::Remember, you are always welcome to spend time with Flash,:: Optimus' rich voice rolled over Jazz's comm. ::You will be his legal guardian. Elita agrees::

Jazz snuggled into Prowl's arms, thinking, weighing. ::Ratchet?:: He reached out to the mech that he had come to lean so heavily on in the last few metacycles. ::How would such an arrangement affect Flash? Being raised by Prime and Elita with my input? I just...I want what's best for him.::

::Like I said before, it'll be much better for him than being raised around a mech who doesn't want him,:: Ratchet responded. ::I had real hope that Prowl would be more responsive than this.::

::I don't think he is going to change his thoughts on the matter.:: There was real grief, but also a growing acceptance as Jazz responded. ::I'll be out in a klik or so, to take Flash to Prime.::

::We'll be here,:: Ratchet promised while Prowl waited patiently for the comm chatter to stop.

"I need to go for a few kliks love." Jazz said, his attention shifted outward and to the mech in his arms. "Prime and Elita are waiting. I will go give them...him. And be back to you."

"I will be fine," Prowl promised with a soft kiss. "We have all the time we need."

Jazz nuzzled him once more before pulling away, making it out the door before he had to stop again. Slowly he started sorting through all of his emotions, layering and organizing them as he hadn't done since his last serious spec ops missions.

Anger, frustration and pain were buried as deep as he could manage, walled in behind all of the love and affection and approval he felt for Flash.

Finally centered, or as close as he knew he was going to be able to manage in the short time that he had, Jazz set off in search of Ratchet and the creation that Jazz was now going to hand to another to care for. He only made it a few steps before Ratchet appeared, a squirming Flash in his hands as the sparkling reached for Jazz.

"Here Brightspark." Jazz said, taking the sparkling and holding him close over his spark, nuzzling the tiny helm before looking over at Ratchet. "Want to go check on Prowl? I-I want to tell him 'bye, and I'll take him to Elita and Prime."

"Take all the time you want, and remember how much they want you to be part of his existence," Ratchet squeezed Jazz's shoulder gently. "I know Prowl. He'll be quite content to lie there and process what happened while he was out until he's caught up on everything. He'll be joors."

Jazz nodded, walking away slowly with Flash in his arms, surrounding the sparkling with love and comfort.

"Creator not like me?" A small voice asked, tearing a fresh wound in Jazz spark as he held the small frame close.

"Prowl is still not well." He murmured softly, smiling at the sparkling. "And he needs my help, someone to take care of him. So you are going to go stay with some others, all right? Prime and Elita will take care of you. They will love you."

"Love you." Flash protested, sure of what emotion was and projecting it, even if he didn't understand all of the connotations and flavors the word encompassed.

"And I love you. And I will come and visit you often." Jazz promised as he carried the sparkling along. "You were very brave in there, and I need you to be brave again, all right?"

Flash nodded, and Jazz smiled at him proudly as he reached the room where Optimus and Elita waited.

It was clear the pair already knew, and Optimus had even retracted his battle mask. "Hello Jazz, Flash," the convoy class mech greeted them warmly, his focus on safety and welcome in his field just as intense as Jazz's.

"He's adorable," Elita One smiled brightly. She took a step forward, then hesitated, unwilling to push Jazz into handing the sparkling over.

Jazz nuzzled Flash once more, forcing his field to be relaxed, even happy, his hold loosening as the sparkling finally reached for Elita One, the field one he recognized and drawn by her friendly, welcoming teek.

"Hello, little one," Elita One cooed and trilled at him, giving no indication she was going to give up Flash to her much larger and just as eager mate.

"Who you?" Flash asked, the field familiar, and the quick sparkling wanted a designation to give it.

"Elita One," she smiled and nuzzled him. "My mate is Optimus Prime."

"'lita. Elita One." Flash, correcting himself before focusing in on Optimus, his field reaching out to the big mech's, exploring. The big mech came closer, his powerful field rich and warm and welcoming as no other.

"Hello, Flash," Optimus reached out to offer his finger to a protoform not that much larger than his hand. The sparkling reached out to grab at it in a bold move, wonder and brighter curiosity flaring in his field and making Jazz smile a little sadly.

He waited a little longer, watching the bonding progress, before slipping silently out the door, taking comfort in the knowledge that his creation was in good hands, even if they were not his own.

**Author's Note:**

> The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page <http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html>. We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read. 
> 
> Zastario is Croatian for antiquated.
> 
> While there is definite rape recovery focus in here for a few chapters, I'm apologizing up front for doing a completely fictional job of handling it.
> 
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter
> 
> Prompt: From: <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=9257694>
> 
> so, weird alien biology time. Also kinda dark.
> 
> Let's say among Cybertronians there's the so-called normal ones, with reproduction handled via Vector Sigma. Interfacing is done for social bonding/pleasure only. These mechs make up the majority of the species.
> 
> Then there's the cuckoos-- not necessarily called that, but it's the closest analogy I can think of. They're considered a myth by most, kind of a bogeyman or urban legend among the mainstream Cybertronian culture; but they're very real, and pass themselves off as regular mechs in order to avoid persecution/imprisonment/scientific experimentation.
> 
> What happens is that to reproduce, two of these "cuckoo" mechs must together capture a normal mech. They use some means to incapacitate their victim and the pair then together interface with him, the first cuckoo implanting some base matter (an egg) and the second following it up with fluid (the sperm).
> 
> The pair then simultaneously sparkmerge with their victim, which does a sort of reprogramming whammy-- it ensures that the victim will, no matter his actual feelings on the matter, first will be compelled to keep quiet about it and second to be protective and caring towards the bitlet now growing inside him.
> 
> The scenario I'd like to see: There's actually a pair of cuckoos in the Ark crew. They've managed to blend in and are truly loyal to the cause, hoping to eventually pitch the idea of freely and openly existing as their true selves to Optimus (freedom for all, right?) but their biology is treacherous and has finally caught up to them. They *need* to go through the reproductive process, or medical complications from denying it will reveal them.
> 
> They can't just nab a Decepticon-- they want their offspring to be raised Autobot-- so they have to choose one of their own fellow Autobots.
> 
> Elements to include: the victim, probably lured with the idea of a perfectly innocent threesome and some light bondage (the incapacitation) is aware through the whole thing, but the cuckoo's biology somehow muddles/drugs them mildly  
> The whole thing is very pleasurable, just weird and vaguely alarming, weird sensations (the egg nodule going in-- that doesn't happen with normal mechs)  
> Afterward the victim mech realizing what's happening inside his body but he can't make himself reveal it or ask for help  
> The truth eventually coming out and the cuckoos fess up to Prime about the whole thing, out of guilt from doing this to their comrade
> 
> Like I said. Weird.


End file.
